


Length of Chain

by patriciatepes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Crowley (Supernatural), Blood and Torture, Bloodplay, Canonical Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, Knifeplay, Lot of monster fighting, Multi, Non-romantic Jo Harvelle/Crowley, Performing a sexual act on a non-sexual object, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Castiel (Supernatural), Season/Series 06, Sex, Smut, Swearing, Torture, slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:17:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 76,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patriciatepes/pseuds/patriciatepes
Summary: SPN Season 6. Jo Harvelle remembered dying, a hellhound as the cause. Imagine her surprise when she wakes up, a cursed necklace about her neck that binds her to the service of the current King of Hell, Crowley. When Castiel appears, she's sure that she's saved… only to learn the truth. Now, bound by a beautiful, cursed antique, Jo must do as Crowley orders, hunting for the answers to accessing Purgatory… or else.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I wrote this way back in 2012 for the spn_hardcorebb. So heed the tags, people! Also, this story is complete, and boy, is it long. I'm going to be posting it here for the first time, in a batch of five chapters at a time. I'll probably put a week between batches. No changes will be made between this one and the complete story posted on fanfiction.net, save for the correction of any typos I find. Also, this story has a lot of stuff that merits the rating, but it also has a lot of softer scenes too. A nice balance, I would say. I'll be using the art by the artist who claimed this story back in the day, the lovely Casper_San. And, much thanks to Twisted-Slinky, who is always my sounding board, for this and all my stories.

  
  


There was a lot of bad that went with waking up after having died. Which was funny, since most would probably figure that there would be a lot of good, a bit of confusion, relief of being back on familiar earth. But no. Mostly it was _a lot_ of confusion, mostly prefaced with the memories of what took place right before the big dirt nap had happened. And for Joanna Beth Harvelle, none of those pre-death memories were particularly good.

She remembered being unimaginably cold, despite the hot blood pouring out of her gaping wounds like water out of a faucet. She remembered her mother's arms around her, holding her tight as they both sat—well, for Jo it was mostly laid—upon the store's cold flooring. She remembered hearing Ellen's plan, her refusal to leave her daughter behind. She remembered wanting to protest—but she couldn't remember if she did. But, after that… nothing. Except that she was alive again, and the earth she was on was in no way familiar to her at all.

She sat up, gasping. She was cold, but it wasn't like she cold she had experience while dying. No, this was a I'm-dressed-in-only-a-hospital-gown cold—which fit, since a white with blue dots hospital gown was exactly what she was in. She was on a cold bed, one that was attached to the wall by bolts and chains. She knew a cot was supposed to be on the metal support, but all she had was the gurney-like structure. The white paint on the iron bars to the cell she was in was chipped all over, and it would've taken a blind and deaf man to keep from seeing that the prison she was in hadn't been used in forever.

She whipped her head around, running nervous, pale hands through her thin blonde tresses. They were slightly matted, but nothing a brush couldn't handle. Provided she could ever find one. She tried to make herself focus, tried to make herself think, but a sudden weight from around her neck was pulling her thoughts. It wasn't heavy, the weight, just unfamiliar as she reached a hand toward the source. Looking down, she could see a necklace, one that she was sure she had never owned in her entire life. Its chain was an antique gold, leading down to a paisley designed heart. And in between the carved designs were a red color, and one touch to the red told Jo that this was some kind of jewel in the metal. She shook her head, putting her bare feet to the frigid stone floor.

Right in front of her—and wow, how had she not seen this before?—was a chair. Nothing special. Just a plain, wooden chair, painted in chipping white paint as well, that looked as if it could have been snatched from any ol' kitchen anywhere. But lying across the seat of the chair was a pile of clothes—a pair of jeans, and two different fabrics, tops presumably—clearly visible in the pile. She made her way over to them, pulling on the jeans underneath the gown. They were just a bit too big for her, but a belt—black, plain, and leather with a silver-colored buckle—was waiting in the pile as well. She strung it through the loops, fastening it, and bent to inspect the rest of the clothing left for her.

A green—pale, almost like a darker seafoam—spaghetti strap top lay in the pile. She gave a quick glance around, poking her head just outside of the cell. When she confirmed that no one—at least, no one she could see—was watching, she all but tore the hospital gown from her, pulling the top down. In contrast to the jeans, the spaghetti strap was a tad on the small size, leaving a little of her pale mid-drift showing. Something about that sent goosebumps, and not the good kind, up and down her arms. But the remaining mess of fabric was a thin, plaid designed button up. She used it simply as an over-shirt, pulling it on like a jacket. She pulled her hair free from it, shaking it loose down her back. Unconsciously, her hand flew to the pendent of the mysterious necklace, and she fingered it lightly as she stepped out of the small confines of the cell.

She fought every human instinct in her to shout, "Hello" to the emptiness around her. The hunter training of her youth had taught her better. In fact, she found herself sorely wanting for some sort of weapon. But if wishes and buts and all that, so Jo continued on, turning left as it seemed that that was the way farther into the building. The person—or thing, rather, since she was pretty sure it had to be a thing—that had raised her from the dead had to be in this place somewhere. After all, if she had raised someone from the dead, she would hang around to see if they were all right.

Another thought seized her as she continued her way, slowly, cautiously, through the dilapidated halls of the prison. What if she didn't want to meet this thing? What if this wasn't even earth, home? What if she was in Hell, and it was just screwing with her head? But Jo couldn't honestly think of anything she had had the opportunity to do in life that would merit an eternity in Hell. She'd made no deals. She'd not murdered anything that wasn't of the supernatural variety. No, she was back among the living. She had to be.

She arrived at an intersection in halls, and a loud noise from a room somewhere off the new hall on her left drew her attention. She turned, hugging the wall as she went, and made her way through the noise. It was terrifying. It sounded like a lot of banging—metal on something very solid—and sawing. Like, with an electric saw. Or maybe even a chainsaw. But she steeled herself, pressing on until she came to the end of the hall, where a pair of double, swinging doors hung, nothing but tiny circular windows in each one giving her any indication of what was on the other side. And right now, from where she stood on tiptoe, all she could see was the back of a man—balding, but not terribly so—dressed in a black business suit, a white apron tied about the middle. And, to her surprise, he lifted a hand, pointed over his shoulder at her—because it _had_ to be at her, there was nothing or no one else it could be—and waved her inside.

Her breath caught in her throat, but what else could there be done about it? Red flags rose up in her mind as she pushed on the door, letting herself in. The man turned, a smile on his face that spoke more about his attempt to fake congeniality rather than actually providing it. Green eyes lit as he took in Jo's face, but there was just something off about the look. There were flecks of yellow in the green, making the look decidedly snake-like. In his right hand he held a handsaw, bloody, and he laid it on the medical tray beside him. He undid the tie of his white apron, slipping it over his head and laying it over the tray as well. He clapped his hands, rubbing them together as he took a step toward her. And Jo, despite being aware of it, took a step back. He laughed.

"Such a relief to have you awake," he said, and his accent was foreign—British, Jo thought.

She let her arms fall to her sides, flexing her fingers as she began to think. If this man attacked her, could she take him, weaponless? If he was just a man, sure. But she really doubted that.

"Where am I?" she asked, finding it suddenly strange to hear her own voice.

She couldn't remember her last words. She felt like she ought to be able to do just this one thing, but that was a blur to her. And her throat felt dry, like it hadn't been used in a while. Her hands suddenly flew to her hips, feeling of them. Why she hadn't thought to do this earlier, when she was less clothed, was beyond her, but she was trying her best to see if her body had any remaining scars from the hellhounds' attack. The denim she was wearing with was thick, but she still knew that no scars remained. Of course, it would've been silly. After all, if her mother had gone through with her plan, then little of her body should have remained.

The man turned, approaching a nearby sink mounted on the back, green-tiled wall. He pulled a glass from beside the faucet, filling it, and crossed the room, offering it to her.

"Might help," he said.

Jo reached for the glass slowly, her eyes never leaving the man as she grasped it. This remained her course of action even as she drank the proffered water. It was cold, somewhere just above ice, and it felt wonderful on her parched throat. She downed it quickly, and he took the glass from her, setting it back on the sink.

"Answer my question," Jo said.

He smiled. "It's not important where you are. How you're here. Now, _that's_ an important factoid."

Jo sighed, glancing about the room. He was right, of course. She had been dead, and now she wasn't. She ran her hands over the fabric of the flannel over-shirt she had on, feeling for something—anything—that would indicate that an angel had been responsible. She remembered Dean—after some careful prodding—showing her Castiel's handprint. But there was no raised mark on either of her arms, and she highly doubted that an angel would have grabbed her anywhere else.

"I died," she said.

"Yes, dear, and as disorienting as that can be, I _had_ expected you to be a bit quicker than this, mentally speaking of course."

Jo shook her head, locking eyes with the man.

"Who are you? How do you know me? Why are you not in the least bit surprised that I'm back from the dead?"

He grinned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He shrugged, his grin becoming smugger the longer he took to answer. Jo was beginning to feel a bit antsy, the way he was eyeing her. Unconsciously, her hand flew to her throat, and it found the mysterious pendant there. She frowned.

"And what is this necklace?" she added.

That seemed to please him, and he took a step forward, wagging a finger at her.

"Ah, he said. "Now _that's_ the question I'd been waiting for. As for who I am, I don't believe we've ever had the pleasure of introductions, but if I'm not mistaken, you're the pretty little blonde that helped the Winchesters gain access to my house. You know, when they needed the colt?"

Jo's brown eyes widened. "Crowley."

He grinned. "I'm touched. You remember. Oh, b-t-w, colt against Satan? Didn't work."

Jo took a step back, but Crowley appeared behind her, catching her by the shoulders, as if she had intended to run. In truth, she had no idea what her plan had been. She was weaponless, and this demon seemed a lot less than concerned with her presence. "Get away" was the only thought she had, but now that seemed futile.

She wrenched her shoulders out of his grasp, whirling and taking a step back—which was now a step farther into the room. Crowley put up his hands, showing that he had no ill intentions. Jo seriously doubted that.

"So what happened? After I… After I died? And why am I back? Did _you_ do this?" she asked, looking down to indicate herself.

Crowley shrugged. "Well, we won. The anti-Lucifer side, that is. And the hellhounds held on to you tight. Regular little chew toy, you were."

Jo shuddered, pulling the open flaps of her shirt closed. Crowley chuckled.

"See, dogs—Hell or not—tend to be like that. Once they get a hold of something, they don't like to give it up, unless ordered. That whore, Meg, thought she had two generic pups. Instead, she had one of mine. And I told my pup to keep you nice and safe for me, once I realized whose soul they had."

Jo's breath was coming in short huffs now, completely irregular. She shook her head, taking another ever retreating step—as far away from Crowley as she could get.

"You don't own me," she said through gritted teeth. "We didn't make a deal."

Crowley's nodded once. "Given. Which brings us to your new little neck charm. Pretty little trinket, isn't it?"

Jo's hand released the pendant, having not realized that she was still holding on to it. She pushed back the curtains of her hair, looking down at it. Her lips pursed, she looked back up at the demon.

"What about this thing?"

"It's cursed, darling. A very useful curse, too, I might add. You see, the possessor of the necklace— _moi_ —can recite a very special little ritual, and then attach the necklace to the wearer—you. It acts as a leash, you see. You behave, do what you're told, and it's nothing but a bauble. But, if you step out of line—"

Crowley snapped his fingers, and suddenly Jo was filled with fire. It rattled every bone in her body, pervaded every muscle, every tendon. She was sure there must be flames rising from her skin, and she would have dearly loved to have glanced down to see, but it was no use. Her body was frozen, stiff, her arms and legs slightly outspread as nothing but the most unimaginable pain filled her—all the pain of Hell, she imagined.

Crowley snapped his fingers again, and it stopped. Jo felt woozy, and she very nearly hit the floor. She stumbled a bit, catching herself against the medical table. She glared up at Crowley the moment she had composed herself. He was grinning like Christmas had come early.

"It's all very S&M, as you can imagine," he said, waving his hand dismissively.

Jo's limbs felt shaky, but she forced the disobedient things to work as she pushed herself upright. Her breaths were heavy now, like she had just come from a very intense run. Crowley's eyes were dancing as he watched her, and Jo didn't like the way he obviously derived some sort of pleasure from her pain. But, that was being a demon, she supposed.

"Why me?" she gasped. "Why bring me back and then bind me like this? What's the plan?"

He chuckled, all but sashaying his way toward her. "I like that phrase, 'bind me like this,' very nice. But, yes, when I realized that I had you in my grasps, then I knew I had what I needed."

She shook her head. "You didn't answer my question. Why _me_?"

A flutter of wings filled the room, and in the blink of an eye, the two of them were no longer two, but three. Dressed in the familiar tan overcoat, black suit, white shirt, and blue tie was the dark haired angel Jo knew as Castiel. She grinned, feeling bolder as she moved to stand between Castiel and Crowley.

"Yes, Crowley," Castiel said, his bright blue eyes trailing on Jo before meeting the demon's dark, green ones, "why Jo? Why bring her back to life?"

"Insurance, o'course. I'm nothing if not enterprising," Crowley said.

Castiel put on his best confused face—and Jo never realized just how much she had missed that. She moved a bit closer to the angel, grateful for the sudden back-up.

"Insurance against what?" Castiel asked.

"The Winchesters, just to start."

When no one said anything, Crowley huffed and continued his explanation.

"When those boys find out what we're trying to do—trying to pop open Purgatory—do you think they'll just sit back and let us do it? Hell no! However, if we have this pretty little thing to hold over their head, particularly Dean's head if I understand correctly, then we haven't a worry in the world. Plus, we'll have another pair of hands to help drag in the monsters."

"'We'? 'Us'? Who's working with you?" Jo demanded.

Crowley chuckled. "Smart as a whip. Nice to see the juices seem to be flowing through the brain now. Me and Castiel, that's who."

Jo glanced back at the angel, who was the very picture of unreadable, before she whirled back to Crowley.

"You're insane. Cas would never work with you."

"Fine. You could be right. I mean, you've only been dead for a little over a year and a half, but answer me this: How did he know to show up here?"

Jo's mouth opened, searching for words that did not seem to want to come. Finally, she huffed.

"He must've known, somehow, that I was alive," she said.

Crowley laughed, hard. "Did you, Cas? Did you know she was alive?"

Jo turned to face him, but Cas averted his gaze. A long moment followed, during which she simply waited. Waited for Cas to come to his senses and deny what Crowley had said. Before long, it all became painfully clear. Jo was caught between a rock and a hard place—Heaven and Hell, and they were in cahoots. She backed away from Castiel, the betrayal hurting more than she remembered the hellhound's bite had.

" _Cas_? How could you?" she whispered. "Dean and Sam don't know? And Purgatory? What's so… so necessary about it that you would have to team up with _him_?"

Crowley grinned. "Now, now. I'd play nice. Remember…"

With a snap of the demon's fingers, Jo felt the pain return. It knocked the breath out of her, and she was sure she would asphyxiate before she could burn. She fell forward, and Castiel caught her, holding to her tight—but she could just barely feel his touch beneath the pain.

"Stop!" the angel ordered, and Crowley snapped his fingers.

Jo sucked in air like she thought she might never have it again. And, to tell the truth, for a second there, that had been exactly what she had thought. Castiel knelt on the cement floor, cradling Jo since it was more than a little obvious that she had not the strength to stand.

"What is this?" Castiel asked, lifting the necklace in his hands.

Jo moaned and began trying to push herself to her feet. Castiel aided her, but she brushed off his help, putting a separating step between them.

"To Hell with this," Jo said, reaching for the clasp of the necklace.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Crowley said, and Jo paused, her fingers poised, seconds away from undoing the dreadful thing. "You think what it does when I snap is bad? Try taking it off."

Jo's arms fell, defeated. Demons were not to be trusted about a lot of things. Pain wasn't one of them. Castiel stepped closer to her, and she could feel his hand just at the back of her neck.

"I'm sure I could remove it," he said, his deep voice even harsher.

Crowley shrugged, and Jo felt her heart swell. Castiel's hands descended on the necklace, but just before he could free her, Crowley stopped him.

"Go ahead. Remove it. That way, Miss Harvelle can go running to her precious Dean and tell him all about the misadventures of Crowley and Castiel. Do you think they'd welcome you with open arms then?"

Castiel shook his head. "Dean's not even a hunter anymore. He's happy."

Jo pursed her lips. At least _that_ was something. Crowley put his back to the two of them, shrugging again.

"You're right, of course. _For now_. With Sam surface-side again, we all know that Dean's little happy homemaker life is on a clock. So, I ask you again, what would the Winchesters do if they knew what you were _really_ doing?"

Another pause, another tense moment. Jo held her hair up, waiting for Castiel to free her from the cursed object. Her heart sunk when, finally, his hand moved away. She whirled on him, brow furrowed.

"Cas? Why? Why are you doing this?" she demanded.

"You have to understand, Jo. I'm doing this for them, for Sam and for Dean. Raphael… he wants the Apocalypse, and if he takes over Heaven, that's what he intends to do. All of the sacrifice, all of the death and destruction… it'll all be for nothing. And the first people he'll destroy? The ones who stopped it last time."

"Including you now, sweetheart," Crowley added.

"Shut up," Castiel snapped, and again, Crowley threw his hands up.

Jo huffed, backing away from the both of them now.

"To Hell with this," she said, whirling and making a beeline for the double doors.

"One more thing," Crowley called, and Jo paused, not bothering to turn. "Don't go away thinking that some noble suicide or something will get you off the hook. Die with that necklace on, and it's a one-way ticket down to the Pit."

Jo peered over her shoulder, watching as Castiel turned to Crowley, the angel's face, again, unreadable. She clenched her hands, trying to best to restrain the fury that was welling up inside of her—the fury that she had absolutely no outlet for. She hit the doors with as much force as she could muster, which was much more than necessary, and stalked out of the room.


	2. Chapter Two

There was really nowhere that Jo could go. With Crowley having her on such a leash—her hand flew to the necklace with little thought before she pulled it away, disgusted—she was trapped in every meaning of the word. But she just couldn't do it. Couldn't be in the room with _those_ two. Just thinking about it, the partnering of the two, make Jo feel sick, so she focused instead on the only destination she had as an option to get away. The cell she had awoken in.

She found it faster than she had found Crowley, striding in only to stop and glare at the brick wall. Only a single window, a tiny rectangle with bars on it as well, illuminated it against the gloom of the prison. She wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to tear the damned necklace off. However, she knew that none of these things were viable options for her. Instead, she fumed, glaring at the sunlight leaking through the window as if it were mocking her.

A flutter of wings, and Jo didn't turn.

"Go away, Cas," Jo growled.

"I wish to explain," he said.

Jo rolled her eyes. She crossed her arms across her torso, still refusing to turn and look the angel in the eye.

"Explain how you're partnered with a demon? And that you're keeping it a secret from Dean and Sam. Oh, and did I understand that right? That Sam was dead, and is now alive, and no one's told Dean?"

Now she whirled, her hair arcing past her. Castiel looked properly abashed, and now he wouldn't meet her eyes, finding something quite interesting on the dirty floor apparently.

"Crowley is the King of Hell," Castiel began, and Jo scoffed, throwing her hands up in the air in a gesture of giving up.

"Yeah, 'cause that's better!" she all but shouted at him.

Castiel shook his head. "No, please, listen! I need the souls."

Jo arched a brow. "Souls?"

"Souls are power. Why do you think demons are so apt to purchase them? And Purgatory has several, untapped, unclaimed souls. With those souls, those hundreds of thousands, I could win the war in Heaven, and we wouldn't have to worry about the Apocalypse ever again. We could have the freedom that Dean and Sam fought for. That Sam _died_ for."

Jo pursed her lips, giving the angel all the glare she could manage. She took a single step toward him, her arms still crossed.

"Why aren't the souls claimed?" Jo asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Castiel blinked, and Jo thought that that might be the first time she had ever seen him do so. She took another step toward him, and she half expected him to back away. But he was still an angel, she supposed, and backing down against a human was not something they were accustomed to doing. So he remained, eyes averted, as she stalked upon him.

"What's so bad about Purgatory that you couldn't have gone to Dean or Sam with this?" she pressed.

This time, Castiel did back away. He pulled his eyes to hers.

"Monsters."

"Monsters?"

"The creatures that Dean, Sam, you, and people like you all regularly hunt. That's where their souls go. It's not run by Heaven, or by Hell."

Jo shook her head. "That's crazy. Human souls are one thing, but monsters? There's no way of knowing what they'd do to you."

"I can handle it."

"Can you?"

"I _can_ ," he said, now advancing upon her.

Jo held her ground. She'd been bullied enough today. She'd be damned if it was going to happen again.

"So, what does Crowley get out of this? You get to win the war in Heaven. What does he get?"

"Cemented in his position as King of Hell."

Jo sighed. "Now, how did I know that? Jesus, Cas. You know, I know I don't know you all that well. We've only met once or twice, but Dean spoke a lot about you. He did. And the stuff he told me, how highly he thinks of you… it's a good thing you _are_ keeping this a secret. Because I don't know what this would do to him, to know that his best friend is partners with the King of Hell."

Castiel sighed, blowing it all out of his nose. He moved toward the cot-less bed and sat down on it, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. He clasped his hands and bowed his head, and for a minute, Jo thought she was about to witness an angel praying. Instead, he gazed up at her.

"You've got to help us, Jo. If you don't hunt for us, then… then I don't know what Crowley will do to you. And I can't be here all the time."

"Or you could, I don't know, take off the necklace."

Castiel laughed, an entirely mirthless sound. "Would you find Dean, and tell him what we're doing here?"

Jo pursed her lips. She could lie. She could. But the both of them would know it for what it was. She huffed, nodding.

"Yeah. I would."

"Then I can't."

Jo moved to sit beside him, just separated enough to let him know that this was not a means of comfort. She leaned up a little, turning her face so that she caught his eyes.

"So you'd let Crowley torture me, over letting Dean finding out and stopping you?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"It doesn't have to be that way. You'd be hunting. Stopping those creatures from harming innocents, like always."

"No," Jo said, pushing herself to her feet. "I'd be taking those creatures to Crowley, for God only knows what."

Castiel formed a deep frown in response. Shaking his head, he stood.

"I'm doing what I can to keep you safe."

"Other than taking the necklace off?"

"Jo, please…"

"So it's work for Crowley or be tortured by Crowley? Those are my options?" Jo asked.

"Or be dragged down to Hell," Castiel gently reminded.

Jo nodded. "Fine."

Without another word, she stalked out of the cell, heading back in the direction of the room where she had initially found Crowley. She pushed past the two double doors, leaving them swinging behind her, and she wasn't the least bit surprised to find that Castiel had beaten her to the punch. Crowley glanced up from his place by the medical table, where a long gurney had been added. He lowered the iPhone in his hands, tucking it in a pocket.

"Come to vent, dear?" he asked.

"I have conditions," Jo said.

Crowley laughed. "You're not really in the place to negotiate."

He waved his right hand, making the motion like he was about to snap his fingers, but refrained with a chuckle. Castiel turned to him.

"Hear her out."

Crowley crossed his arms, shrugging.

"I'll hunt. I'll help bring you monsters, since I don't really seem to have a choice in that anyway," she began.

"Lovely."

"But," she said, raising a finger. "I'm not going to play second string to any damn demons. I do the hunts on my terms, with _them_ listening to _me_ , you understand? And Sam and Dean? They don't hear about me. Got it?"

She didn't have the full story on the stopping of the Apocalypse, but just from what she'd heard—Sam dying, Dean not knowing he was alive, Dean living happily somewhere—her reappearing alive was the last thing the Winchesters needed.

"That sort of defeats your true purpose, darling," Crowley pointed out.

"No dice. They don't hear about me, or I don't hunt."

Crowley raised his hand, seconds away from snapping his fingers, and Jo was already prepping for the pain. But Castiel stopped him.

"They won't hear about you, unless necessary."

Crowley turned, wide-eyed at the angel.

"That's the whole bloody reason I brought her back, was to lord her over Dean Winchester's head!"

"And you can… if they—or she—becomes too much of a problem. But that shouldn't be the case," Castiel explained.

Crowley growled. When he turned back to Jo, he gave a mock little bow and said, "Fine, princess. Do whatever you like, apparently."

"I don't think I've asked for much. Although, a nicer place to sleep other than that cell might be useful."

"Like I intended to keep you _here_ ," Crowley huffed. "Please. I can't even begin to imagine all the trouble you could get into here. No. I have just the place for you."

Jo's brow furrowed. She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. But she nodded all the same.

"Fine. That's fine."

"Now that this has all been taken care of, I have pressing matters to attend to in Heaven," Castiel said. "I'll be in touch."

With a flutter of wings, Castiel was gone. Jo was suddenly all too aware that she was alone, again, with Crowley. And just as weaponless as before. It made her feel all too aware of her surroundings, with every little noise threatening to make her jump out of her skin. Her eyes scanned the room, noting that the only exit was very clearly behind her. She turned her attention back to Crowley, who was grinning like the cat who had caught dinner.

"Now that the business portion of the evening seems to have been taken care of, let's get you on your way, princess," he said.

With that, he snapped his fingers. In the instant after, Jo had expected pain. Instead, she found her surroundings entirely changed. She was in a lavish bedroom, done entirely in dark mahogany wood and mauve draping. The bed was four-poster, and large—at least a queen, maybe even a king. The room itself was huge, with much more open space than what was probably necessary. A single set of leather chairs with a low, round coffee table set to Jo's right, two end tables set on either side of the massive bed, the walls on either side of one of the doors in the room were bookshelves, and there was a writing desk in the corner between one wall and a bookshelf.

"Huh," Jo said, walking over to window, hidden by heavy mauve curtains, on the right-hand wall.

She took a peek in between the two curtains and sighed. Bars on the window. Thick, most probably _not_ iron, and not wide enough for anybody to squeeze through. Of course. Jo turned away, her eyes landing on the door opposite her. She crossed the room in several steps—she had been seriously tempted to jog—and opened the door the way any hunter ought to—cautiously. But on the other side was nothing more than an attached bathroom—full sized, with tub, shower, sink, and toilet.

"Like your new digs?" came Crowley's voice from behind her.

Jo jumped, whirling, slamming the bathroom door shut as she did. He smiled, obviously reveling in the fact that she was so nervous around him. Jo bit lightly at her bottom lip. She wouldn't be so damn jumpy if she just had a damn _weapon_.

"Where are we?" Jo asked, stepping toward the nearest poster of the bed—the lower, right hand one.

"My new home," Crowley said, sweeping his arms around. "Quite an upgrade from the one that those useless peons burned down on me. It's got all the gadgets and comforts you could want. Or, rather, all the gadgets and comforts _I_ could want."

Jo rolled her eyes. Shaking her head, she took a couple steps, a bit more anger than confidence in them, toward the demon.

"I get it. I'm under _your_ watch, _your_ control. You don't have to keep rubbing it in," she snapped.

Crowley grinned brightly. "Well, after that little interlude with our fine, feathered friend, I thought you might be confused."

Jo dug her nails into the sides of her jeans. Gritting her teeth, she forced a small smile to her face.

"You know, you can't keep me so… contained. If you want me to hunt for you while I'm under your thumb, I'm going to need weapons. And since I'm sure you won't have me talking to many, if any, other hunters, I'm going to need ways to research."

Crowley's eyes narrowed nearly into slits. "I'm not stupid, you little brat. And I'll thank you to know that I can keep you however the hell I please!"

Jo raised her hands, motioning that she was backing down. "Fine. Okay. Well… what kind of resources will I have?"

Crowley jerked a thumb in the direction of the desk in the corner behind him, and Jo noticed for the first time that it had a laptop on it. She made her way over to it, booting it up. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Crowley appeared over her shoulder.

"Don't even think about using it to contact your little friends, either. I have eyes all over this place, and I will know if you've misbehaved."

He was too close for Jo's liking. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, smell the sulfur on him. She turned, deliberately moving to the bookshelf nearest her—and away from him.

"And these?" she said, pulling down a book at random. "I assume they're not just to look at?"

"Ding, ding," Crowley said, his smile saying something that even Jo couldn't read now.

He moved close to her again. Not as close as he had been before, but less than arm's length. This time, though, Jo was trapped. No way to just whirl out of grasp. He was too alert, too direct, for that to work.

"There's also a library here that should have sufficient information. Also, we demons are not without our knowledge. The ones you will have under your, _ahem_ , command on your hunts should be able to assist. If they're not complete morons," Crowley continued.

He stepped closer to her, and Jo stepped back, feeling her back collide with the books and shelves. Trapped. Exactly where her mother had always taught her _not_ to be. Crowley was still smiling, completely smug in his current position.

"I hope you understand that, under our little arrangement, if you're not on a hunt or at the prison, you'll be here. I can't have you out, running around without my knowledge. Gotta keep kitty at the kennel, you understand."

He was just way, _way_ too close now. And she knew she should protest, should argue with this new clause to their arrangement. But, in truth, it gave her a bit of relief. The less she was in the outside world, the less chance she had of running into Sam or Dean and totally screwing up whatever lives they had now.

Crowley was even closer now. She had no idea when, but he had moved where he stood almost on top of her. She was pressed as hard as she could be up against the bookshelf, the corners of each tome digging into her. Crowley extended his left arm, laying his palm on the wall beside Jo. That left only the right as an escape plan, and that just wasn't going to happen. Too close, and too cluttered—the desk was just a handful of steps to the right.

"I figured that might be the case," she said, her eyes circling the room before landing back on the demon. "How far is the prison from here?"

"A few blocks. Walkable, easily," Crowley said, his voice low. Almost a whisper.

Jo swallowed, and hoped that it didn't look too much like a gulp. The books were beginning make her back ache, but she did not ease up on the pressure. It was almost as if she wished she could meld into the wall. Crowley laughed, once, softly, leaning in even farther between the two of them.

"There is just _one_ more thing, Joanna," he said, and the way he said her name made Jo's blood turn icy. "While Castiel might seem keen on keeping you safe and, well, _kept_ like a little lost puppy, there's one thing I want you to remember."

He reached in with his right hand, lightly picking up the pendent of the cursed necklace, and Jo shuddered at just the merest touch of his finger to her flesh.

"And what's that?" she asked.

Crowley dropped the pendant, grinning. "Castiel might have the power to remove the necklace… but the power to wield it? That lies only with _me_."

He snapped his fingers, and Jo felt that familiar, horrible flame engulf her being again. She screamed, despite herself, sliding down the shelf. Her backside collided hard with the floor, and she tried desperately to reign in her voice. But the pain had been too unexpected, and it might have been her imagination, but it seemed even worse than before. She couldn't even feel her extremities, only the flame that burned at them from within her very bone. Her fingers dug into the plush carpet around her, and she bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, in efforts to stop screaming.

Vaguely, she heard a snap above her, and the pain vanished just as suddenly as it had started. Jo fell sideways, leaning on the carpet, as she gazed up at Crowley, who had stepped back some now. His look was dark, glaring down at her with none of his smarmy charm anywhere to be seen. Jo's lip felt warm, and it wasn't too long before her brain registered the taste of iron on her tongue.

"You son of… a bitch," she snapped, panting.

"Cheers," he said.

And he was gone. Jo fell forward, breathing into the carpet, gripping it tightly in her hands.

"Bastard," she muttered.

She lay there, face down in the carpet, for a long, long time, strongly trying to resist the urge to cry. Crowley had gotten enough from her today.


	3. Chapter Three

Jo groaned, making a sound somewhere between "ew" and "ick" as she lifted up her right boot, kicking the cuffed ghoul into the empty cell before her. She slammed the barred door shut, the ghoul breaking the cuffs in an instant and whirling to reach out for her through the bars. She jumped back, out of reach, and sighed, rubbing a hand on her aching lower back. The ghoul snarled at her, calling her all sorts of nasty names, but she ignored him. Gingerly, she looked down at the short jacket she wore, picking at its left shoulder and noting the large rip in the seam there. She sighed, moving that same hand up to her face, wincing as it came across the cut that was just now scabbing over on her cheek.

The ghoul—who was currently taking the form of his last victim, a dark haired man with dull blue eyes, high cheek bones, and shallow-colored skin—grinned at her, his teeth almost unnaturally pearly white.

"You tasted good," he purred, licking his right forefinger as if her blood was still on it.

Jo resisted the strong urge to vomit, running a hand through her hair and finding it just as matted as she feared it would be. She blinked, and, without a sound, she went from being the only one standing before the ghoul, to having Crowley on her right side. The demon, dressed in his usual black suit and long coat, jerked a thumb in the direction of the cell.

"What's the deal with this, then?" he asked.

Jo turned her back, keeping her feet facing forward, as a series of _pops_ ran up her spine. She sighed, turning to glare at Crowley.

"You look like hell," Crowley said before she could speak.

She smirked. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

"Clever. But onto the matter of our ghoulish friend here. What gives? Did the demons I sent you with not deliver the message?"

He seemed genuinely confused, and Jo arched a brow at him. Shrugging, she shook her head.

"You mean the one about wanting the other ghoul that was with this one?" she asked.

Crowley grinned, and it was not at all a happy gesture.

"Ah, so you _did_ know that. Then, explain to me, please, why in the _hell_ that this lowly piece of _filth_ is the one in the cage instead!"

Jo did not even bother to flinch as Crowley's voice had deepened and become immensely more gravelly through his inquiry. She ran another hand down her face, finding in that one moment that she had not one, but two stinging cuts to contend with—the other being on her forehead. She hissed at touching them, turning her tired eyes back to the King of Hell.

"The other ghoul is dead, Crowley."

Crowley huffed out a chuckle, backing away from her for a moment in disbelief. When he approached her again, it was a move that oddly reminded Jo of scenes from a nature documentary, something like a jungle cat stalking its prey.

"Oh, my misunderstanding. The other ghoul is dead, then? Well, _why would that be_?"

Jo crossed her arms.

"You know, if you weren't a demon, I would worry about your blood pressure," she snipped.

But Crowley was in no mood for games, and Jo could almost imagine smoke curling out of his ears simply from the intensity of his glare. She sighed.

"The other ghoul was going to kill me. It had me cornered. So, I killed it first," she explained.

Crowley bit lightly at his bottom lip, obviously trying to sort through the tirade building up inside of himself. His tongue slipped out, wetting his lips, as he took just a moment longer to get his point ordered in his mind. The whole time, Jo simply stared at him, arms still crossed. Finally, he sighed.

"Joanna," he said with such a forced calm that Jo had to resist the urge to back away. "This uselessly piece of garbage is not worth the scum that's on my very expensive loafers. I'm looking for bloody Purgatory, not the nearest _McDonald_ ' _s_! If I needed information that _every_ ghoul would have, then I wouldn't have bothered with the damn message! You're lucky if I choose _just_ to use that bauble on you."

He pointed to the ruby, heart-shaped pendent on the necklace, his voice growing louder. But rather than making Jo fearful, that move only seemed to raise her ire. Her arms fell apart, and she raised a slender finger to Crowley's face, taking a hard step forward.

"Look," she snapped. "This was _my_ hunt, as per our agreement! I chose to make the kill, rather than die myself, especially considering the fun side effects this damn chain will have on me if I _do_ die. So, as far as I'm concerned, you can kiss my ass. You asked for a ghoul. I brought you a damned ghoul."

That seemed to silence even the monster locked away, as he fell back against the bars, gripping them as if he could tear them about. But neither Jo nor Crowley paid it any mind. Ghouls were strong, just like any other creature that stalked the night, but they weren't strong enough to rip through iron bars. Crowley chuckled at her breathlessly.

"The end result of the game, you little idiot, has to be what _I_ want, or else it is pointless."

Jo smirk, giggling. Crowley's face fell, his eyes blazing as she did nothing but shrug at him, rather nonchalantly.

"Well, I managed to save a few innocent lives, so I still got what _I_ wanted."

It happened in an instant. Crowley snapped his fingers, with a growl, and Jo felt that all-consuming fire. She cried out with the shock of it, losing her footing and feeling only the cold cement hit the entirety of her body as the fire raged on. Her fingers curled, her nails digging into the rock, and she felt oddly frozen in place as she cried out over and over again. The fire raced up her spine, filling her mind until she was sure that her hair was nothing more than the flames dancing overhead. She kicked out, as if this was something she could remove, but it was an exercise in futility.

"Um, am I interrupting something… intimate?" called a voice somewhere over her head.

It was male, and she was only partly sure that she had not imagined it. She faintly heard the snap of fingers, and the fire stopped. She gasped, sucking in air again like she thirsted for it. Groaning, she rolled over to her stomach, pushing herself up by her hands. She gazed up, finding that, indeed, the voice had been real. The man standing over her was nothing extraordinary. He was lean, and not overly muscled. He was dressed in a pair of jeans that could use a wash, a brown belt, and a blue cotton button-up that was tucked into the jeans. He was bald, completely, and his skin was dark—like he had a nice tan.

"Ah," Crowley said as Jo finished pushing herself to her feet.

She noted how neither man helped her. She hadn't really expected Crowley too, but that spoke volumes to her about this new arrival. Apparently, her curiosity about the man's origin was all too clear on her face, as Crowley stepped forward, placing a hand to Jo's back. She tensed, strongly wanting to step forward, but Crowley stood so that it was more than obvious that this would be a poor move on her part.

"Joanna Harvelle, this is Samuel Campbell, Dean and Sam's maternal grandfather," Crowley said, a happiness that was almost sickly sweet coating the words.

Jo's eyes widened as she stared at this man. Dean and Sam's grandfather? What was _he_ doing here?

"Nice to meet you," Samuel said, again making no move to be congenial with her.

"Oh," Crowley said, an acidic grin on his face, "just so you know. Don't mention this to Sam or Dean. Jo's, apparently, my little secret."

Samuel shrugged. "Got no problem with that. I've got another catch for you."

Crowley stepped away from Jo, his grin much happier. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them.

"Wonderful. Now _that's_ the sort of thing I expect out of my employees!" the King of Hell declared.

"I'm not your damned employee. I'm just your slave," Jo snapped.

Samuel raised a brow at this, and Crowley turned. He ran a hand through a lock of her hair, and she batted him away.

"That you are, dear. That you are."

"It's the kappa that you wanted," Samuel continued, as if this exchange had not fazed him in the least.

Of course, it probably hadn't. Samuel didn't know of her connection to Sam and Dean. Of course, now that she knew his—not only to them, but to Crowley as well—it left her reeling. First Castiel, but now the Winchesters' own grandfather aiding the King of Hell in his pursuit of Purgatory? It made Jo's heart ache, and bile rise to her throat. She wanted to scream, to rant and to rave about how the world had apparently gone mad in the time since her death. Instead, she held her tongue as she listened to Crowley instruct Samuel on where to put the kappa. Samuel nodded along, like this was simply business as usual.

"Now that that's all taken care of," Crowley said with another clap of his hands, bringing Jo back from her thoughts, "why don't you escort Samuel out, my little Jo?"

Jo snarled at Crowley but nodded. She took a step toward Samuel, gesturing in the direction of the exit of the prison. But Crowley stopped her, placing both his hands on her shoulders. He tugged her back a step, almost hugging her body to his.

"And remember, Samuel, Jo here is our very special, secret girl," he said, chuckling in her ear.

Jo shrugged him off, but Samuel nodded.

"Right. Sam won't hear a word about her… not that my group knows about my working with you anyway," the old hunter sighed.

Jo paused, mid-step. Sam was with his grandfather? And this man was working _with_ Crowley? Willingly? She bit the inside of her cheek, stopping only when it grew unbearably painful. Samuel started toward the exit, and Jo followed, almost like an afterthought. She could almost picture Crowley's darkly gleeful smile at her back, so she was resolute not to turn around as she and Samuel wove up the halls and out of the demon's sight.

"So, I'm going to assume that you know my grandsons?" Samuel asked, throwing a sideways glance her way.

Jo nodded. "Yeah. I'm a friend."

"And you're working for Crowley? What? He got you under a deal?"

Jo pursed her lips. "No. He's got me under a chain."

She tugged, ever so gently, at her necklace. And Samuel nodded, his lips forming a silent, "Ah."

They curved up another set of corridors in silence, neither looking at the other. Jo could feel herself fuming over her newly gained knowledge, and she was sure that she could not trust herself for long to keep it bit down.

"So, you're close to the boys? Or were?" Samuel asked.

"Yeah."

"You know Sam pretty well then."

Jo arched a blonde brow up at him as the dingy doors of the exit came into view.

"I guess you might say that. Why?"

"Well, it's just… he's not how I might imagine that he was. He's a damn fine hunter, don't get me wrong. I mean, he's probably one of the best I've ever seen."

Just as the two reached the door, Crowley was there waiting for them. His hands were shoved casually into his pockets, waiting for them like he had been there for hours rather than the seconds that were closer to the truth.

"What do you mean, he's not what you pictured?" Jo asked as she and Samuel came to a stop before Crowley.

"He's… dark. Stoic. I can't get a read on what's going on with him."

Both hunters turned their eyes to the demon, who only shrugged. He leaned on the push-arm of the door, the metal connecting with a _click_ , as the door slid open. Crowley held it as such, nodding toward the outside.

"Off with you, Jo. I need you to research some monster sightings in Alabama. Might be something we don't have," he said.

Jo sighed. "Fine. I'll start on it. In the morning, you know, after I sleep."

She slid past Crowley out into the crisp night air, listening as Samuel followed after.

"Nice meeting you," Samuel said, and Jo had a feeling that that sentiment was not a reflex for the old man.

It brought her to a stop, turning to face him. Samuel shrugged.

"Maybe we can talk some other time. I'd like to learn a bit more about my grandsons from a friend of theirs."

Jo could feel it coming up, the anger she felt, and this time, she was too late to quell it. She grinned, nodding.

"Yeah. You know what? That sounds fun. And in return, you can help me work through my thoughts on a certain topic."

Samuel looked her questioningly. "Oh?"

"Yeah. The topic of how surprised Sam and Dean might be if they knew just how many of their loved ones were full of complete shit."

She whirled on her heel after hearing Crowley say, "Burn." Jo didn't even bother trying to reply to _that_ , simply stalking off in the direction of the manor.

She had been hunting for Crowley for several weeks now. So this darkened route on half-broken sidewalks that eventually turned into freshly paved roads and immaculate yards was all too familiar to her. Crowley's new and almost overcompensating-ly large manor sat atop a sloping drive. The gates, when she finally arrived before them, were always closed, and a part of her wondered if they were really the wrought iron that they appeared to be. She buzzed the demon that had gotten stuck with the lowly job of Crowley's doorman, and he made some sort of smart comment over the intercom as he allowed the gates to swing slowly open. Jo could have responded, but she'd had enough of verbal sparring for the evening.

She huffed her way up the drive, opening the unlocked front door of the manor—because, when you're the King of Hell, why bothering locking your doors? She supposed it was too much to hope that Crowley might provide her with a car, and the thought alone of asking for one made her want to double over in laughter. Yeah, because the demon was just oh-so giving. She crossed through the foyer of the manor, flipping off a demon that wolf whistled in her direction. Up a narrow hall, second door on the right, she turned, leaning onto the door as she pushed it open. She found herself in her appointed room, and she all but slammed the door behind her.

"Honey, I'm home," she said through gritted teeth.

A sound like a flock of birds landing echoed through the plush room, and Castiel was suddenly standing before, head cocked just to the right.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked.

Jo laughed half-heartedly. "Never mind. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

Weeks. She had been on several hunts for Crowley for several weeks. Hell, she hadn't even looked at a calendar. It might have been months now since her resurrection. Actually, months sounded a bit better. But in all that time, this was only the second time she had seen Castiel. She wondered if the angel knew just how intense her anger was at him, so he had simply chosen to stay away. Or maybe he'd been busy. After all, there was that whole Heavenly civil war thing going on.

"I need to ask a favor of you," he said, moving to take a seat on her bed.

Jo shook her head. "You know, I'm not really in a very generous mood at the moment."

She pushed herself off of the door, pulling out the chair that went to her writing desk. She plopped down onto it, crossing her legs knee-over-knee. Castiel had that inquisitive look on his face again.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She laughed, throwing her hands into the air. She lowered her head, shaking it. When she brought her eyes back to the angel, she rolled them.

"You mean other than this damn necklace?" She tugged on the chain once, just for emphasis. "Yeah, I'm just dandy. Now what do you want?"

Castiel sighed and his left hand reached out to grasp the closest post to her canopy, gripping it tightly. Probably just shy of shattering the wood. Jo leaned forward in her chair, as if she could reach him from the rather vast expanse of floor between the two.

"The war in Heaven… it's going very badly," he said, his words spoken as if very deliberately chosen. "I have followers, those willing to fight against a second attempt at the Apocalypse. But it's not enough. We're not strong enough. Not as strong as Raphael."

He paused here, sighing again. Tiredness, the likes of which Jo had never seen on the angel's face in the short time she had known him, washed over his features. She stood, hesitating, but feeling a deep sorrow for him. But she held her ground, not retaking her seat, but not going to him either. Instead, Castiel gazed at her again.

"Something's… wrong," he said, his brow furrowing with thought.

Jo couldn't help it. A small snort of laugher escaped as she stepped just a bit closer, crossing her arms.

"You mean other than Heavenly civil war? Other than you allying yourself with the King of Hell? Something other than _that_ is wrong?"

"Something is _missing_ ," Castiel said, and Jo didn't miss the hint of venom in his words. "Something's been taken. And I think—I fear—that it is the Weapons of Heaven."

Jo closed the distance a bit more, stopping to lean in on the same post Castiel still had his hand gripping.

"What do you mean?"

"You would know of them. Anyone even the slightest bit familiar with even the earthly Bible—despite what it gets wrong—would know them. The staff of Moses, Lot's Salt, the Holy Lance, things of that sort. I think they've been stolen."

Jo pursed her lips. "What does that mean exactly?"

Castiel shrugged. "I'm uncertain. But I highly doubt that it bodes well for humanity. The weapons are powerful. And, having them back… it might help tip the scales of the war in my favor, that is until—"

But he cut himself off. That was okay. Jo knew the rest of that sentence, "until we find Purgatory." She let any sort of reply on that subject die on her tongue. Castiel turned his bright blue eyes up to her, pleading.

"Will you help me find them? All I ask is that, in your hunts for Crowley, that you keep an eye out for anything that might seem… extraordinary."

Jo laughed. "That's a daily occurrence for hunters. But… yeah. I will. I'll keep an eye on the news too, while I'm having to research."

Relief seemed to spread over Castiel's features as he stood.

"Thank you," he said.

She said nothing, only acknowledging the words with a nod. Castiel put his back to her, and she thought that he meant to leave. However, he paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"Jo," he said.

"Yeah?"

"If Crowley ever does… too much. To you. Please, call for me."

With that, he vanished, the sound of his wings leaving the only evidence that he was ever there. Jo sighed, leaning her forehead against the cool post of her bed.

"He already has," she whispered.


	4. Chapter Four

Jo had always enjoyed water. She used to love to go swimming. Lakes, the ocean, a chlorinated pool, she loved them all. Hell, she even got a kick out of taking a leisurely bath or long shower. But, as she dragged her soaked-through body out of the lake, getting back to her feet only as her hands reached the dry shore of the frigid lake, Jo found herself really _hating_ water. And it didn't help that she had a small audience laughing at her.

His name was Malcolm. No last name. Or, rather, Jo didn't know the last name. And he was a demon. Of course, at the moment, there were no pressing signs to support that fact. His eyes were a soft brown, a cruel glint in them as he continued to laugh as Jo pulled her dripping form upright, and his hair was a close cut, dirty blond. He was dressed in dirty jeans, and a cotton t-shirt with a long-sleeved, olive green button-up pulled over it and left open.

"Nice night for a swim, I take it?" Malcolm called as Jo shook off as much excess water as she could off one leg, then the other, then both arms.

She wrung the water out of her hair, tossing it behind her back with a wet _thwap_. She turned her own, dark brown eyes to him and snarled.

"Shut up before I kick your ass all up and down this shoreline."

Malcolm threw up his hands, nodding. "Touchy, touchy."

Jo rolled her eyes. She hated him. She hated both of the demons that had been "assigned" to help her out on her hunts. Of course, Jo knew the truth to this. If Crowley was going to, willingly, let her go out on hunts, then he wanted eyes on her. Back up was a secondary role. But, to Malcolm and the other's—Nell—credit, they knew that their job was to pick up this monsters and bring them home to Crowley. A good thing that made them eager to aid in the hunting aspect… a bad thing when Jo felt she needed to make the call for a kill over a capture.

"Did you at least see which way the damned naga went?" Jo huffed.

Malcolm turned, pointing toward a gaping maw of a cave entrance.

"That way," he said, chuckling.

Jo spit some foul tasting lake water out onto the ground, groaning.

"Damn naga," she said, trudging farther up the shore to where her bag of weapons lay open.

Half-snake, half-human, nagas were most prominently found in Hindu nations. But here she was, in the middle of Nowhere, Alabama, hunting just that. Crowley had been right about the monster sightings. He definitely did _not_ have a naga. It had taken quite a while for Jo to track it down, spending most of the past days—another question of time, since it could've been months for all she knew—going back and forth between Crowley's manor and Alabama looking for the damned things. This was not to mention all the little bitty hunts she had done in between, snaring other monsters for Crowley in her quest for the naga. But, to her chagrin, for all the research she had done on the appearance, abilities, and location of this naga… she hadn't really researched a way to kill it. Of course, she knew that Crowley would frown on that… but shit happens, and if it came down to her or the naga—like it had with the ghouls—then the naga was going to be one headless snake-person.

"Back," Nell announced as she appeared beside Malcolm.

Jo picked up a machete from her bag, arching a brow at the red-haired demon. Nell was pretty, voluptuous some might even call her. She was curvy in all the right places, her long hair thick and wavy, and her eyes the brightest green that Jo had ever seen. But a demon was a demon, and Nell was a deadly one. In fact, had it not been for her affection for Crowley—thanks to his new role of being her boss—she would probably have no qualms in joining Jo for slaughtering the monster, bloody. And she abhorred research. Which, as the appointed leader of the hunt, Jo had taken a special pleasure in sending her to do just that.

"What did you find?" Jo asked, resting the weapon on her shoulder. "Did you find out how to kill it?"

Nell sighed, glaring at Jo.

"Crowley wants it alive for questioning."

Jo bit down the groan that she knew was coming before it even had a chance to get started. She had been groaning a lot lately… especially when demons were involved. Damn demons had a one-track mind, and it seemed that the lesser ones were always eager to be directed and bossed around by those higher on the food chain. Apparently, an afterlife in Hell took all the initiative out of you.

"I _know_ that," Jo said. "But it still wouldn't hurt to know what will injure it, now would it?"

Nell seemed to drink that in, considering it. Finally she shrugged.

"Well, it doesn't matter. Got no clue how to kill it."

Jo threw her hands up in the air, putting her back to the two demons. She rested her forehead on the cool metal of the blade, her eyes drifting shut for just a moment. With a sigh, and without opening her eyes, she pointed at the sack of weapons behind her.

"Load up… we're gonna have to go after it. Just wish we knew more than what it could do to us."

"I said I didn't know how to kill it," Nell said, drawing out a few of the words longer than necessary.

Jo turned back toward Nell, letting the machete hang limply by her side. She could see that both demons had taken that short moment of her being turned away to do as she ordered—arm themselves. Malcolm also had a machete, which left Nell with the short sword. Apparently, they were both thinking along with the same lines as Jo. Better luck in cutting it—taking its head, if necessary or if Jo had any say in it—than risk a bullet full of rock salt doing jack, except to piss it off.

"Then what _do_ you know, Nell?"

Nell's pink little tongue shot out, wetting her crimson painted lips. Jo shook her head as the demon woman seemed to deliberately drag out the silence, just to aggravate the hunter.

"Stop being such a bitch, Nell, or I just take the damn thing's head," Jo threatened, using her machete to point toward the cave's mouth—several feet away, but still clearly visible, even in the sparse moonlight.

Nell's eyes narrowed. " _Crowley_ wants it _alive_."

Jo wanted to hurl the weapon at her… aimed right at her pale neck. Her instinct told her to do it, and it was the very same instinct that told her to march into that cave and take the naga's head as well. But Jo knew that that wasn't an option. She'd already killed one monster that Crowley had specifically asked for. Absently, her free hand rose to the heart pendant of her necklace, fiddling with it. It was just a tiny thing, the pendant, no bigger than the palm of her hand. But the weight of it… it felt like the weight of the world, and it burned hotter than any Hell Jo could imagine when Crowley used it on her.

"Um, hello?" Malcolm said, waving a hand. "If you two are done having your little cat fight, I think we ought to get this naga before he slithers onward."

Jo nodded. He was right. Her hand still grasping and playing with the necklace, she turned her attention to Nell.

"What did you find out?"

Nell crossed her thin arms over her torso.

"I found out that nagas like treasure. Kind of like dragons, they like to guard it… only they covet it more. After too long, they begin to believe it was always theirs."

"We need a plan," Jo muttered.

Nell nodded her head toward the direction of Jo's raised hand, the one grasping the necklace.

"Well, we have the bait, deary. That pretty little bauble you wear ought to attract the naga nicely."

Jo shook her head, her hand dropping as if she suddenly remembered where it was.

"We can't use this. We need _another_ plan," she said.

For good measure, and because she could still see Nell gazing at it, Jo tucked the necklace as far as she could inside the collar of her shirt. Malcolm huffed.

"Well, I don't have any treasure. Do any of you?" he said, eyeing the two women before him.

Nell shook her head, but Jo only bit at her bottom lip, thinking. Her eyes fell to the leather satchel that lay wide open on the ground, all manner of weapons spilling out. Treasure… she had to have something within that bag that could count. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit her. She knelt down before the bag, digging inside while the two demons moved closer to hover over her.

"What are you doing?" Nell asked.

"I think I have a good substitute treasure," Jo said, digging a bit more. Finally, she grinned, adding, "These ought to do it."

She stood back up, unfurling her left fist before her two companions. Five, shiny, silver bullets rolled inside of her palm. Nell seemed impressed by this, and she tilted her head toward the cave.

"Then let's go bag us a naga," she said.

The three of them started the small trek toward the cave, with Malcolm taking the lead—as he was the only one who thought to grab a flashlight from the bag. The cave was only a handful of feet from the lake, so it took only moments to arrive. Malcolm paused just at the entrance, letting his beam of white light rove and probe as far into the darkness as it could. When nothing seemed to be waiting for them at the entrance, Jo motioned for them to continue inward. However, just three steps inside the mouth of the cave, Nell put a hand on Jo's shoulder, pulling her to a stop. Jo turned, blinking at the demon—whose red hair seemed to shine in the dark, even without the light being pointed on it. The rest of her, however, just melded in, as she wore a black, semi-lacy blouse and a pair of black denim jeans. It was also no wonder what color her half-boots were.

"I learned something else that might be useful," she whispered, which Jo had to admit was probably a good call. "Nagas can be lulled into submission—sleep—by music."

Jo rolled her eyes. Of course they could. And here she was, without her mp3 player or mp3 speakers. Like she ever thought to carry them on a hunt anyhow.

"Thanks for the head's up. Any particular kind of music?" Jo asked as the three of them continued their walk into the cave.

Nell shrugged. "Didn't say."

"Wonderful."

The pushed forward, deep within the cave… so deep that the sound of dripping water was echoing off the walls and in their ears. Jo's grip on her machete tightened. She had no idea how deep this cave went, but she was certain the naga couldn't have gotten far. Every few feet, she would toss out a silver bullet… hoping that that would help draw the naga out. She got confirmation on that idea when Malcolm cried out in front of her. The flashlight went flying from his hands, landing—spinning—on the ground. Jo saw in flashes of the beam as it twirled Malcolm be swept, hard, into the left, then right, cave walls. Nell took a step back, and Jo held her ground, her machete at the ready.

"Hey!" she called out.

Hissing, like a hundred snakes had just turned their attention upon her, filled the cave. Jo saw, in the narrow beam of light, an acid green tail whip to the back of the cave as a man's torso came into view. It was unclothed, muscled, and mocha-colored. The naga's hair was black, falling from the top of its very human head—save for the snake-like fangs protruding from the otherwise normal mouth—to just past where the human half melded into the snake half, at where a normal person's waist would've been.

"Wanna play?" Jo called.

In a flash, the tail whipped out as the naga tried to sweep Jo off her feet. But she had already fought this thing once tonight. She had been expecting this. She jumped, vertically, lifting up her feet like she used to when she played jump rope as a kid. Her boots landed back on the rocky floor with a dulled _thud_ , and she rolled closer to the naga, lashing out with her machete.

"Alive, Harvelle. Crowley wants it alive," Nell screeched from behind her.

Jo's blade caught the naga on the arm, which royally pissed it off. It scooped her up like toy and tossed her over to Malcolm, to softened her fall marginally by half-catching her, half-falling with her. The moment Jo was back on her feet, her head whipped toward Nell.

"Fuck Crowley," she shouted.

But Nell didn't hear her, as she was busy dodging the naga's blows now. Jo took this moment to think, as quickly as possible, on how in the world she was ever gonna get this naga back to the prison—without having to kill it. However, Malcolm seemed to be ahead of her on ideas.

"Music," he said. "Didn't Nell say music would put it to sleep?"

"But we don't _have_ anything that plays music," Jo said, shouting a warning soon after to dodge a whip of the naga's tail.

"Why don't you just sing?" Malcolm said, shoving Jo out of the way as the naga took a swipe at him.

Jo landed on her side. Normally, she would be thankful for such a save. But these were demons… and although they might not have the full story from Crowley on Jo, they knew that she was an asset to him. And Crowley really didn't like it when someone hurt his assets.

"Sing, damn it!" Nell shouted, jumping, then ducking the naga.

Jo leapt to her feet, singing the first song she could think of. A pop hit she had heard about a million times while driving to hunt the naga—yes, because Crowley had finally provided her with a car… for hunts only. Jo had felt out of loop quite a bit since her resurrection, so she had begun to take an interest in modern musicians, and Malcolm—who had rode part of the way with her—had informed her that the artist's name had been Kesha. Knowing that there was no way in Hell this was going to sound any good, but that it was their only hope anyway, Jo began to sing the song.

Everybody paused, with all eyes turning to Jo. But she kept singing, even as Nell arched a brow at her.

"Friggin' really?" the demon said exasperatedly.

But it was working. The effect seemed almost instantaneous. The naga began to sway back and forth, back and forth, until it finally curled itself into a coil. Nell's tune was changing now, as she grinned over at Jo.

"Whatever you do, chickie, don't stop singing!" she said.

Like she had plans to. But Jo was a little curious about the end game here. After all, she couldn't very well sing all the way from this cave in Alabama back to the prison. However, Malcolm and Nell were moving, with Nell placing a hand on the naga's shoulder, and Malcolm hooking a hand under Jo's arm. All the while, Jo kept singing, but her eyes—full of questions—shot between the two demons.

Nell and Malcolm locked eyes and nodded. And in the blink of an eye, they went from being in the middle of a dark, dank cave, to being in the well-lit, dilapidated prison, standing in front of a large, unused cell. Malcolm released Jo's arm, moving to help Nell drag the sleeping naga into the cell. And Jo kept singing right up until the moment they shut the cell. She stopped, taking a deep breath. The naga still slumbered, and Jo sighed.

"Go back and get those weapons and the car," Jo said. "I'm going to bed."

She didn't wait to see if they listened, pushing past them and heading for the exit of the prison. She made the familiar walk toward the manor—sorely missing her car with her feet positively aching. She waited on the doorman to buzz her in, and then she headed directly for her room—more specifically, the adjoining bathroom. She dug out her pajamas—a set of fuzzy pants and a purple tank top—and fresh underthings. It was odd how Crowley had allowed her to stock her room with such necessary things, but she had not looked the gift horse in the mouth. Instead, she readily accepted it, taking it as one of the few things that either Castiel or Crowley could ever do to help ease her into her role of slavery.

Jo shut the door behind her, the click echoing softly off the white tiled room's walls. She stripped off everything but the damned necklace, and turned on the shower just as hot as she could take it. The shower was black walled, with no attached tub—that was separate, and garden sized in the far left hand corner of the room. It closed with a blurred glass slider, grasped on either side by silver colored metal handles. Jo stood behind the glass, staring through it at the now foggy image of the bathroom, letting the hot water trail down her pale flesh. The heat left red whelps, long lines of them, down her body, and Jo moaned to be suddenly so warm. She hadn't realized it until this very moment, but she had been just frigid ever since she had landed in the lake water—or rather, dragged there on the tail of a supremely pissed off naga. Jo's hand rose, grabbing at the black bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. She poured a little in her hands and stepped out from under the stream of water to run it evenly through her hair. Then, back under the steamy water she went, her finger just grazing the chain of her necklace. It was hot, absorbing all and releasing none of the heat of the water. She hissed, swearing, as she yanked her hand the rest of the way into her hair.

Oh, how she wished the damn thing would just rust into oblivion. But that would probably have some negative side effects on her as well. She finished with her shower, twirling the knobs as quickly as she could to shut them off, and stepped out onto the white, fuzzy bath rug. She grabbed the black towel handing on the outside of the shower door, using it dry off and wind her hair up in it. Following that, she got dressed and released her hair once more to blow it dry. Finally fully dry and clean, she stepped back into the bedroom.

Her stomach rumbled, and she pressed a hand to it. She hadn't been kind to it recently, eating the smallest of meals. And that was only when she thought to actually eat. She had never been one to gorge herself on food… but she'd never starved herself either. But she shook her head, her gaze landing on the laptop on the desk. Food could wait a while longer, she figured, as she took a seat before the computer. It had been some time since she had spoken with Castiel about the missing weapons of Heaven, and her promised research had left much to be desired. So she went immediately to her usual resources—local newspaper sites she had become familiar with, search engines, and blogs—looking for anything that could possibly be a Biblical weapon.

Losing track of time, like she seemed to be able to do so easily since her resurrection, Jo had made a complete circle of the internet. Or, at least, that's what it felt like to her. But if the weapons were missing, she figured that someone had to be using them… or selling them. She went to the first auction site she could think of, typing like a madwoman, when suddenly the alluring smell of a burger and some fries assaulted her nose. She was pretty sure that demons didn't have to eat, unless they just wanted to, so she highly doubted that the smell was coming from the manor's kitchen. She was moments away from investigating, the rumbling in her stomach becoming suddenly painful, when a white sack with little spots of grease stains plopped down beside her right arm. She jumped, whirling to find Crowley, hands tucking into the pockets of his long coat, standing over her. She closed the laptop—the less Crowley knew about missing weapons of Heaven, the better, she figured.

"I want you to eat every bite of that mess," he said, pointing to the fast food bag.

Jo arched a brow at him as he crossed the room, stopping just in front of the soft, low-built chairs in the corner across from her writing desk. He looked back at her, again nodding toward the food.

"My eyes tell me that you've liked to starve yourself. I can't have you dying from lack of nutrition before I can actually have use of you, now can I?"

He sat down in the chair, reclining in it, as he crossed his legs, ankle-over-knee. Jo smirked, grabbing up the bag and peeking inside. Fries and some massive thing that called itself a burger but was really a heart attack waiting to happen. But she couldn't lie. It _did_ smell good. She rolled the bag back up, setting it back on the desk as she stood. Suddenly very aware that she was dressed in her bedclothes, she crossed her arms across her chest—hoping that it didn't look _too_ much like she was trying to cover herself.

"That's so _kind_ of you," she snipped at him.

"You know, it does make one wonder," he said, pointing now to the laptop, "what it is that you could possibly be looking up. I haven't given you any new nasty monsters to hunt. Oh, which thanks so much for the naga. I've always wanted one, ever since I was a boy. How in the world did you ever know?"

He fluttered his eyes, just for a moment, in an attempt that Jo could only suppose was to be a mockery of school-girl glee. Jo put her back to him, glaring down at the laptop.

"It's nothing that'll do you any harm," she said. "So why do you even care? It's none of your business."

Jo heard him rise from his seat, and she turned, finding him now less than an arm's length away from her. He cocked his head to the right, grinning.

"Is it for Castiel?"

Jo stared, long and hard, into those yellow-speckled green eyes. Snake, those eyes seemed to scream at her. Snake, snake, snake! He was still grinning at her, again like she wasn't in on the joke. And he wasn't looking away. She couldn't stand it anymore, staring that demon in the eyes. She looked away, and Crowley chuckled triumphantly. He moved closer to her, so much so that she could feel his coat brush against her. He seemed to loom over her, despite only being slightly taller than she was.

"You would do well, darling, to remember whom it is that you work for. You are _mine_ , not the angel's. There are so many, many, many _terrible_ things I can do to you, pretty—much more than just this little trinket."

He lifted the jewel of the necklace, dropping it so that it collided with her chest. Jo pursed her lips, as Crowley chuckled and continued.

"And there's not a thing in the world you could do about it… for fear of what this little necklace could do to you. You really should remember that."

Jo bit at the inside of her lip, nodding, still refusing to meet the King of Hell's eyes.

"I'll remember," she whispered.

She finally dared a glance at him, and he smiled. He lifted his right hand, snapping his fingers once. Jo flinched, shutting her eyes and expecting pain. But when it did not follow in the next instant, or the next, she opened them. She was in the prison, standing in a hall between two rows of monster-filled cells. She was suddenly aware that her feet her freezing, and she glanced down, remembering that she was still dressed for bed… which did not include socks or shoes.

"What the hell are you thinking?" she said, her voice turning shrill as she tried to keep it under control. "I'm freezing! I'm dressed for _bed_!"

Crowley grinned, slipping a hand behind her back and urging her forward.

"Oh, don't be so modest. Walk with me, talk with me," he said.

So the two began to move up the hall, in between the cells of snarling monsters—some of which Jo had helped catch… and they clearly remembered that. Crowley moved at a leisurely pace, making sure that Jo stepped in time with him.

"Do you know what the problem is with my little collection here, Joanna?" Crowley asked, gesturing at a couple of vampires who cursed them as they passed.

Jo sighed, rolling her eyes. "Not big enough? You seem like the kind of guy who likes _big_ things, Crowley."

Crowley chuckled. "Well, yes, but not in the way you think. You see, my problem—my real problem—is that not one of these little bottom feeders is what I need. Not a one of them will be able to lead me to Purgatory. I need bigger fish."

Jo's brow furrowed as she turned to gaze at Crowley. "What do you mean?"

"Alphas, darling. Daddy needs alphas. That's what I need you to help me find."

"Alphas? What are those?" Jo asked.

"The firsts. The first vampire, the first shifter, the first ghoul, the first… well, anything. The oldest of their kind, and the most powerful. They are worshipped by their own kind, and they are supreme masters of their species. And, as such, they are well hidden."

Jo's stomach was rumbling again, but this time, it had nothing to do with hunger. She had a really bad feeling about where this conversation was heading. But she said nothing, waiting for Crowley to arrive at his point.

"Soon, hopefully, alphas will be exactly what I'll send you after, love."

And there it was. The final blow. He was going to use her to go after the best of the best. Had this been anyone else… Jo might have been flattered. But it was Crowley… and Jo just found herself worrying if this wasn't just a way to get rid of a failed plan that had several loose ends. After all, Castiel had made sure that Jo's terms were being held fast… which made null the true purpose of her resurrection. Jo bit her lip again, drinking in this new information. She didn't have long to ponder, though, as they were interrupted by another demon—one that Jo had not seen before.

He was a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen… or at least, the human the demon was wearing was. He came at them at a run, skidding to a halt just moments before colliding with them. Crowley arched a brow at the boy, taking in his screen tee, and ripped jeans.

"Crowley, that djinn I've been tracking… I think I finally have it," he said.

"You better be more than just thinking that you have it," Crowley said, his voice a little gravelly with annoyance.

Djinns… those were something like genies. Jo remembered Dean telling her about one he had encountered.

"I am, sir. I'm sure of it. We finally have it. We can catch it," the demon said, obviously eager to please.

Jo sighed. "I guess I'll get ready."

The demon must have known more of Jo than Jo did of him, because he gave her a rather odd, knowing glance. He turned back to Crowley.

"The djinn is in Cicero, Indiana, sir," he said, his words obviously meaning more than just what was stated.

Jo looked to Crowley as he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

"Such a shame. Guess I'll have to use Baldy on this one," he said.

"Why go to Samuel? Usually, you're all too eager to use me," Jo said. "What's different?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, sweetheart, it's your own rules. And I guess I'd have a mighty smiting down on my head if I broke them now."

Jo didn't miss the acidity in those words, but she ignored it. She shook her head, still not quite clear on what Crowley was saying. The King of Hell sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Cicero is where your beloved Dean is currently living."

Jo's eyes went wide.

"Oh."


	5. Chapter Five

It had been a little over a week, but no longer than two, when Samuel finally dragged the djinn woman into the prison. Jo was certain this time… she'd kept a real close eye on her calendar. Samuel dropped the djinn woman, unceremoniously, on the empty, cot-less bed, before exiting the cell and slamming the barred door shut behind him. Apparently, they had slipped the djinn something, because she didn't stir at all. Jo looked up, pushing herself off the small strip of brick in between the djinn's cell and the next, her eyes trained on Samuel.

"You saw them?" she asked, no preamble to be found.

Samuel put his back to her, and Jo could almost imagine the expression that she couldn't see. Cold… calculating. Deciding—based on Jo's initial reaction to him and the knowledge that he seemed to be working with Crowley of his own volition—whether to answer straight… or tell her to fuck off. Jo was expecting the latter. Instead, she got somewhere in between.

"I'm busy, Jo. But yeah, I saw 'em. Nothing you can do with that info anyway," Samuel said, starting toward the exit of the building.

He took one step; Jo mimicked him.

"Were they… okay? Were they all right, Sam and Dean?"

Samuel waved his hand over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn.

"Sam's the same hardass he's been since I've met him, and Dean was… well, understandably surprised to see both me and Sam alive. Now I'm gone, girl, do you understand?"

All the while, he kept walking, and not turning. And Jo stopped following. She sighed, watching as Samuel walked his way out of sight. Beside her, inside the cell, the djinn woman began to stir. As soon as she was capable of finding her voice, the djinn began to curse and swear at anything and everything she could see… including Jo when she finally looked up. The huntress sighed.

"Whatever," she said, turning on heel and leaving the cells—more and more of them becoming monster-filled thanks to Samuel and his crew, and Jo, Malcolm, and Nell—behind.

She wasn't sure where her feet were taking her. It wasn't out of the prison… that would've been in the other direction. Instead, she was heading farther—deeper—inside. It dawned on her that, perhaps out of months of habit, that this was just automatic for her now. Seeing a monster locked away… then seeking out Crowley for the next assignment. The thought made her stomach curl, and her hand inched its way up her shirt, finding the ruby-red heart pendant there. She toyed with it a moment, letting it slip in and out of her fingers as nothing but her feet guided her forward. Vaguely, she was aware that she was fairly close to the operation room in the prison. Her eyes flitted up for a moment, seeing the double, swinging doors—stained with blood that didn't help her churning stomach relax—in the distance, and they seemed tiny to her.

She heard the fluttering wings before she even thought to look up. As a result, she collided—just a little bit—with Castiel. She bounced back, apologetic, and forced herself to focus on the newly arrived angel. His head was cocked sideways—in the way that only he and cats seemed to be able to do—and Jo pushed a smile on her face.

"Howdy, Cas," she said.

That seemed to alarm him more, and Jo almost laughed to see how his blue eyes widened. She shook her head, finally taking her hand off the necklace, and crossing it with the other arm across her torso.

"Since it's popped to mind, I hate to say that I haven't managed to find anything about those weap—that thing you asked me to keep an eye on," she said, catching herself just in time.

She was really off her game tonight. It was a good thing that she _wasn't_ on a hunt. At this rate, she'd have been dead in moments. She liked to blame Sam and Dean for this distraction. Or at least, blame the fact she knew that something more was going on behind the scenes in their life… and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She was alive. Castiel and Crowley were in cahoots. They wanted to crack open Purgatory. Samuel was working for Crowley. And Sam… something was wrong. And Jo had a feeling that a few of the people she was around—Crowley, Cas—knew more than what they let on about that. And worse of all of it… Jo was working for Crowley too… whether she wanted to or not. Did that make her any better than the rest?

Castiel seemed to sense her reverie, and he leaned in, as close as he could without touching her. Jo blinked, locking eyes with him again.

"Thank you. For searching. Please, continue to do so," he said, gently and yet firm… like he had to work hard to get her to stay with him.

Jo shrugged, moving past the angel in the direction of the operation room.

"No problem."

She made it four steps past him when he called her to a stop.

"Where are you going?"

She turned in place, making an exasperated shrug.

"That seems to be the question I've been struggling with," she said. She went silent for a moment, finally rolling her eyes and adding, "I guess I'm looking for Crowley. To see if he's got another monster for me to bag."

Castiel arched a brow, and just the intensity of the question written all over his face made Jo sigh.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. It's just… I never expected this."

Jo didn't say anything, waiting for him to elaborate. After a moment, he did, gesturing towards the doors.

"You seemed to be falling right into step with what Crowley wants of you. I guess I expected more… rebellion."

Something in those words… they weren't accusatory… they weren't harsh… but they sparked something. A fire replaced the churning in the pit of her stomach, and she stomped her way into the angel's face.

"Yeah, because _I'm_ the one falling in line!"

She whirled, stomping her way toward the doors, and she could hear Castiel following behind. So she continued her rant.

"I'm the good little slave, sure. Then what are _you_ , Castiel? Just the bitch? _I'm_ falling in line? You've got _no_ right!"

Jo shoved both of her hands on both doors, sending them flying open to smack, loudly, on the walls on either side. Crowley, mid-clean up based on the bloody instruments and plastic apron he wore, with no body in sight, raised a brow at the two of them.

But that wasn't to say that Crowley wasn't alone. A man, dressed in jeans, a long sleeved gray shirt, and a dark-washed denim jacket stood across a tray of bloodied equipment from Crowley. His face was long, rounded at the chin but squarish in the forehead, and his skin was olive. His eyes, however, were unreadable as any one, natural color… as they were completely black. Demon black. Jo paused as Crowley turned back to the demon.

"Keep at it," Crowley said to him, nodding his head towards the door.

The demon muttered some sort of assent, exiting the room in between Jo and Castiel. He grinned back at them just as the doors closed behind him, and Jo moved her attention back to Crowley, brow furrowed.

"None of your concern, love, I assure you," Crowley said, anticipating her question before it could be formed.

Jo opened her mouth to argue, but Castiel stepped forward. Crowley pushed the tray of blades away, reaching behind to untie the apron.

"Any information yet on Purgatory?" Castiel asked.

Calmly, too calmly, Crowley lifted the apron over his head. He balled it up, tossed it behind him, and turned to Castiel. He smiled, which instantly flipped into a frown.

"I haven't got squat! In fact, what I have aspires to _be_ squat! These monsters are nothing but the scum of the earth. They couldn't be the heavy hitters if they _tried,_ " he growled, throwing his hands out and flipping the tray of tools off onto the cement floor, letting them clatter noisily.

Castiel sighed, putting his back to the demon. Jo crossed her arms, trying her best not to smirk at the oh-so obviously childish temper that the King of Hell possessed. Petty, petty demons… but, overall, this news was good for her. No information, meant no Purgatory. And her gut told her that that was a good thing indeed.

"I _need_ the alphas, and not a one of these monsters—vampires, ghouls, djinn—not one of them are high enough on the food chain to even begin to know where they're at," Crowley continued, his temper easing back into the land of control.

"I guess this is where I fit in," Jo said.

All eyes in the room landed on the young huntress. But she was stone, not moving so much as a muscle at the intensity of gazes levied on her by the angel and the demon. Crowley grinned, laughing, as he stalked his way closer to her. He stopped just a foot or so from her, and Jo felt her body tense against her will.

"My, my," Crowley said, his voice almost a whisper. "Don't we think highly of our self? So ready and willing to aid me in getting the alphas… yet not a bloody clue as to where they could be."

Castiel stepped forward, sensing—as Jo did—where this was heading. He put himself between Crowley and Jo.

"We could use her, Crowley," he said. "She's a natural resource… a hunter born into the life like the Winchesters. She might be the fresh eyes you need."

Jo wanted to snap. Wanted to curse Castiel for daring to defend her. But she held her tongue, watching, silently, as Castiel side-stepped to allow Crowley closer. The demon was grinning at her, looking positively Cheshire, as he lifted his hand, running the back of his index finger down her cheek. Jo turned away from the touch, biting the inside of her cheek so hard that she was beginning to taste that familiar iron again. Crowley chuckled.

"And use her I will. But not yet."

He turned, moving away from her, and making the same dismissive wave that Samuel had just moments earlier.

"Leave, Joanna. I have no use for you at the moment."

Jo felt heat rush her face, and she could almost see the redness in her pale cheeks through the power of imagination alone. She dared a step toward Crowley, unable to stop the words before they spilled over her lips.

"I'm not a dog to be commanded, Crowley. I think you ought to remember that if you want my help with those alphas."

Crowley glanced over his shoulder at her, brow raised. It was a standoff, with Castiel looking on as their captive audience—unsure if it was too early to intervene. Or too late.

"I ought to, ought I?"

It was a whisper. A dare. He wanted to see what she would do next. And, if Jo was a girl in control of the situation she was in, a girl with a cool head on the situation, she might have backed off. As it was, though, she was _pissed_.

"Yeah," she said, almost breathless. "And you know what else? You ought to be happy—pleased, even—that I'm so quick to come and ask you what I can do for you next. Despite the fact that I despise you. Despite the fact that I think this hunt for Purgatory will lead to nothing but death and destruction… and I'm not just talking of the human variety. Despite the fact that, if I could find the slightest opportunity, I would kill you without even thinking twice."

Crowley turned toward her, grinning.

"Is that so?" he said.

And he snapped his fingers. Jo thought she should be used to the all-consuming pain by now. Used to the way it made her forget where her feet were, that the pain of crashing down to the cement floor, screaming, should be nothing now. But she wasn't. It still left her lungs begging for breath, and her body for relief. That fire was flowing through her veins like blood.

"Crowley, stop!" Castiel growled, and Jo could feel his hands, like a soothing balm, clasp her body about the shoulders.

She heard another snap, and the pain vanished. Jo sat up, with Castiel aiding her, as she drank in the air. The moment she could, she jerked herself out of Castiel's grasp, and both she and the angel rose to their feet. Crowley rolled his eyes at the both of them.

"That's getting _really_ old, you know," Jo snapped.

Crowley stalked towards her, one of the shiny surgical blades from the floor, the blood still crusted on it—and Jo couldn't even begin to guess when he had picked it up—in his hands. He slashed out at her face, missing openly. He laughed.

"We could always try something new, darling," he said.

"Enough, Crowley," Castiel said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jo.

And Jo dearly wished he would just move away from her… that the both of them would.

"Fine, whatever. But our little _pet_ here needs to learn how to stay and how to go. Else it'll be no treats for her," Crowley said, moving away.

Jo wanted to rage all over again at the King of Hell. But the pain was fresh in her body, and that kept her tongue in check. Castiel turned to gaze down at her.

"I'll take you home," he said, reaching for her.

She pulled out of the way, feeling bile rising to her throat as she thought of Crowley's manor as "home." "I'm walking."

"I'll accompany you," the angel insisted.

"Fine," she said, leaving the room.

Crowley laughed behind them, shouting after.

"Oh, the big angel has to guide the poor lost lamb home. Poor little Joanna," the demon laughed.

Jo didn't say anything. In fact, neither she nor Castiel spoke a word until they were clear of the factory. Once the clear, cool night air seemed to hit Jo, she sighed. She was so tired. It had been a little while since she'd been out on a hunt. At least as long as Samuel had been out after the djinn. When she was busy, running with Malcolm and Nell for Crowley, she didn't have time to think too hard. Just hunt, kill if necessary, and bag if possible. Those were her rules, not Crowley's. She didn't have time to realize just how tired she really was. Her eyes trailed up Castiel's profile, before falling back to the sidewalk under her boots.

"I know," Jo began, pausing. "I know that you were just trying to help me in there. And before then… in the hall… I guess you were just honestly confused."

Jo chanced a look at the angel, and he looked just as Jo had said. Confused.

"I still find myself unable to comprehend human behavior… even when it is happening to me. Most of the time, I don't understand why they do… why _you_ do what you do."

"Well, speaking for my specifically, I've got this damned necklace to contend with. But, speaking for my species… I guess we're just fun that way."

A moment passed between them as the lawns began to get a little bit better… the high class that Crowley preferred. Jo laughed, all of sudden, and Castiel looked at her like she might have just lost her good senses.

"Sorry," she said, waving a hand. "I was just thinking… You know, when Dean was describing you to me… before I ever met you… he compared you to a child. I guess he was right… in a way."

Castiel seemed to bristle at that.

"I'm older than the entirety of your race. I remember your creation," he said, sounding just a hair snippy.

This only made Jo chuckle more. "That's not quite what I meant. I mean, learning-wise… like… with human behavior."

That relaxed the angel a bit… but not much. And Jo found that all terribly amusing. Another moment passed, as they seemed to be doing so quickly for Jo, and she finally nudged Castiel just a bit on the arm.

"I've heard of a _few_ things," she said.

"About what?"

"Things that could be weapons of Heaven. I'm not sure. I think I'll have to wait and see what else turns up."

Castiel smiled, and Jo found it infectious.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me. Or how grateful I am for you doing this."

Something about those words, they hid a kind of sadness. And it hurt Jo just a little bit more than the activated necklace did. The huntress frowned, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear as the two approached the gates of Crowley's manor.

"How's it going? The war in Heaven?" she asked.

"Not well. Raphael… is strong. I'm not," he said.

It was hard, blunt. Truth. Jo felt like it had been a while before she had gotten any of it. She turned, pressing the button for the doorman and announcing herself. As the gates began to swing open, squeaking just a bit in the quiet night, Jo turned to Castiel.

"You don't need it," she said.

He looked at her… but there was no question there. He knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I believe you can win without Purgatory. And especially without Crowley. You can beat Raphael on your own. I know you can."

Castiel looked away, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Jo stepped forward, grasping the sleeves of his overcoat with her hands, tugging on them like a child might tug on a mother's apron strings.

" _Please_ , Castiel. Please go to Sam and Dean. Tell them what's happening… before it's too late. Tell them what's going on in Heaven… tell them how bad it really is. I know they would help you. I _know_ that."

Castiel locked his deep blue eyes on her, and the sadness, the pain, and the worry in them threatened to engulf her.

"I've never doubted that they _would_ help. I just don't think they _could_."

He paused, gazing up at the manor on the hill.

"Go inside, Joanna," he said, and he vanished.

Jo felt the air rush from her, like a good sucker punch had been landed. Her body—and the cursed necklace—felt heavy as she trudged up the sloping drive. She paused at the door of the manor, leaning on the heavy knob of it. She leaned her head against the rough wood.

Her brain wanted to think. Wanted to reassure her. Wanted to cheer her or distract her. But, instead, it only replayed the image of Castiel, gazing at her like he had, as she entered the manor. It was haunting… and it tore at her heart. And, again, there wasn't a damn thing to be done.


	6. Chapter Six

"Son of a—" Jo yelled, being cut off as her body crashed into the far wall of the abandoned home's kitchen.

She heard the dry wall crack underneath the force of the collision, and she rolled down it to crash to the darkly stained hardwood flooring. Dazed, she glanced behind her to take in the damage to the wall, sneering at the country blue-and-white checkered wall paper—completely with blue bonnet geese dancing their way about the trim at the very top of the walls. A near-perfect imprint of her back and rear end folded in from where she had hit, and Jo groaned, feeling it even more as she pulled herself to her feet.

It hadn't been so long since Jo had been made aware that Dean was back in the game of hunting. At least, that's how it had felt to her as she had been confined to mostly research on various different species and the possibilities on where they could be hiding their alphas. The last hunt—save for this one—that she had been on had been right after Dean and Sam had come up against the Alpha Shapeshifter. Crowley had practically salivated over the idea of having that particular alpha, and hadn't hesitated in the least to send Malcolm, Nell, and Jo after it. The problem was that after it had snatched the baby shifter from Sam and Dean, it had pulled a Houdini. Poof. Not a trace to be found anywhere. Jo had come home from that hunt betting on getting the necklace that night. However, some divine power had intervened, and they had gotten a lead on another kind of alpha. The Alpha Ghoul. Thankfully, that alpha was particularly arrogant. He'd been feeding, a lot, regardless of live or dead prey. He'd practically bull's eyed where he would be, and Jo and her demons had been on their way.

"Joanna, on your feet!" Nell called from another room in the house.

"Check," Jo shouted back, retrieving her machete—which had had the good graces to fall not far from her hand.

In yet another room—living room, maybe—Jo heard Malcolm be thrown like a discarded toy. He landed, swearing. It would have been funny, had the source of the throw not been entering the kitchen at that very moment.

He looked normal, the man entering the room. A douchebag, yes, but normal. His skin was a tad shallow, but his black hair was healthy and bouncy, falling in loose locks around his ears—the hairdo being lightly shaved on the bottom layer. He was dressed in a charcoal gray suit that seemed to shimmer silver in the moonlight that was leaking in through the various busted windows in the house. His eyes were a dull, white-blue, and his lips were purple—stained red. He was tall, standing a head taller than Jo, and he was grinning at her.

"I assume you know who I am," he said, his voice a cold velvet, seeming to suck all the heat from the room.

From behind him, Nell—her vibrant hair a beacon in the night once more—came rushing in. He batted her away as easily as one might bat a fly. Jo wanted desperately to roll her eyes and stomp away like a child. Honestly, what good were demons to her when this guy was just putting them down again and again?

"Yeah," Jo said, tightening her grip on her weapon. "I know _what_ you are too, Mordiggian."

Mordiggian's grin widened, and Jo lifted her blade. She would give almost anything to be able to swing it, taking the damn creature's head and sending it to the great beyond. Her body felt covered in bruises, and those were just from the five minutes Malcolm, Nell, and Jo had been there. She was cut, aching, and bleeding. Mordiggian was strong, leaving no question why he was to be feared as the alpha of his species. He cocked his head to the side, lifting a long, thin arm to point an equally thin finger at her. He seemed to be tracing her outline, and a pink tongue snaked out to wet his cracked lips. Jo grimaced.

"Ah, and I'll assure you that the talk of me being the Alpha Ghoul is not just talk. I am the oldest, the first."

Crowley wanted it alive. She could almost hear Nell's voice repeating her favorite mantra in her mind. Malcolm appeared in the doorway behind Mordiggian as the alpha inched closer to Jo. Malcolm caught the huntress's eyes, clearly asking what she thought ought to be done to bag the monster. Frankly, she didn't have the foggiest idea. Ghouls were monsters like any other, but Jo had never truly been concerned with them. Yeah, they were strong. Yeah, they ate flesh—mostly of the dead, but sometimes of the living. Yeah, the only real way to take them out was by decapitation or severe head trauma. But, on the scale of least scariest to most scariest monsters… they came in fairly low for her. Like, a two or something. She had been warned by Crowley—and then by Malcolm and Nell—that the alpha would be stronger than any other ghoul. That he might even possess different talents. But, in her arrogance, she had brushed off the concerns. But they had been right. And Mordiggian had just spent the better part of ten minutes showing her her own ass.

"Yeah, the first. I guess that's why 'alpha' is attached, yeah?" Jo said, letting the acid drip.

Mordiggian threw back his head, laughing. The sound made Jo's body shiver, and she had to remind herself that if she killed an alpha—one of the creatures Crowley wanted above all others—then the necklace might be the least of her worries. That was, if Mordiggian didn't get to her first. The Alpha Ghoul inched ever closer, still tracing her outline with his finger.

"You know, I've never favored the female form. I'm very fond of it, no doubt. I've mated with many. But any time I've had to eat a girl, I've rushed out to gorge myself on a man—so I can assume a form I can feel… powerful in."

The thought of ghouls mating made Jo want to vomit. But she bit the feeling down, smirking at him.

"And who says a girl can't be powerful?" she asked.

Nell appeared in the opposite doorway, the demon's eyes asking the same question as Malcolm's had: What do we do? Jo was winging it in every sense of the term. But she could feel the arrogance roll off of Mordiggian in waves. If she kept him talking, she was sure that the moment would present itself. She just had to keep the talk going… keeping the actual fighting to a minimal. Because, to be honest, she wasn't a match for him. And she wasn't sure if Malcolm or Nell were either.

"Oh, don't misunderstand me," Mordiggian said. "Women can be most powerful. If allowed to blossom… but me… I just don't have a green thumb."

He chuckled at his own pun, and Jo couldn't hold it back this time. She rolled her eyes. And she could almost see the flash of anger in Mordiggian's. Apparently, he wasn't sued to being disliked.

"How dare you disrespect me, child," he growled, stalking ever closer to Jo. "Do you know the immensity of my power? How I have affected the world? Why, I am so well known—even to those who think my species is a myth—that I stand right alongside Cthulhu in H.P. Lovecraft's works."

"Your mom must be so proud," Jo snipped.

The Alpha Ghoul's grin was wolf-like. "You know _nothing_ of my mother. But, if this Crowley—this _roach_ that has risen to the throne of Hell—keeps collecting her children, you might know of her soon enough."

Jo blinked, not liking the way those words made her heart stop beating for a moment. So much for a flippant insult. She let her gaze flicker up over Mordiggian's shoulders, hoping that her demon companions were at least troubleshooting the problem of bagging the alpha. Thankfully, Nell was silently loading a tranquilizer gun… and Malcolm seemed to be doing the same.

"I bore of you, child. And I grow hungry," Mordiggian said, his voice guttural.

The Alpha Ghoul launched himself at Jo, and Jo heard both tranquilizer guns shoot at the same time. Mordiggian cried out, enraged, as Jo side-stepped him, watching him crash into the hole her body had made in the wall earlier. He yanked himself back out as Jo moved to stand with Malcolm and Nell.

"Reload," she shouted as Mordiggian jumped for them again, yanking the darts from his back like they were nothing but errant thorns from a rose bush.

Jo ducked low, kicking out and catching the Alpha Ghoul in the stomach. Apparently, the tranquilizers were having some effect, because he stumbled back fairly easily, looking a little spun. Jo heard two more darts whizz by her ears and saw them implant themselves in Mordiggian's face.

"Well…" the ghoul slurred, " _fuck_."

He fell over, out cold. Jo tucked her blade in her belt.

"Let's get him back and put away in the prison. _Now_ ," she said.

Her demon companions didn't need telling twice. Malcolm grabbed Mordiggian, and Nell grabbed Jo. Before they knew it, they were in front of an empty cell, tossing Mordiggian's limp body inside and slamming the door. The three had a moment to sigh, and then they were joined by Crowley.

"I can't bloody believe it!" he shouted, sounded elated, which was something Jo had yet to hear from him. "You got him! And you're all alive. I'd say 'well done,' but by the looks on everyone's faces, this was more luck than anything else."

Jo and Malcolm frowned at the King of Hell, but Nell seemed to beam at him.

"We brought you the Alpha Ghoul, boss," she gushed.

Crowley smiled at her, running the back of his index finger down her cheek. "So you have, pet. Well done, indeed."

The moment Crowley and Nell's backs were turned, Jo made a gagging motion with her finger. Even Malcolm had to chuckle. Crowley whirled back around, clapping his hands once.

"So, anything else interesting happen?"

Jo shrugged. "He was a talkative little monster. He kept talking about… Lovecraft? Was that it?"

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah. He said that he was so popular or whatever that he had made it into the, uh… the… the Cthulhu stories? I think."

"No kidding?" Crowley said, and the way he was rubbing his hands together, Jo imagined the Grinch who stole Christmas.

"What's so great about that?" Jo asked.

Crowley approached the huntress, tapping her nose once. "Mind your nose, dearie. It's rather cute to get chopped off."

Jo's brow furrowed, but she said nothing more. If Crowley didn't want to tell her… then she would find out herself. She crossed her arms and yawned, widely. Crowley shook his head and waved his hand.

"Go home, girl. You've actually done very well tonight. I've no more need of you," he said.

Jo bowed, openly and very much in mocking. "Of course, your majesty."

Crowley grinned, wagging a finger at her as she turned and made her way out of the prison.

"Careful, a man could get used to that," he called after her.

She flipped him off, and Crowley laughed.

"Far too busy tonight, I'm afraid."

Jo shook her head and kept walking, not slowing a bit until she had reached the manor—and her room. Her boots were the first thing she took care of, moaning in relief as she pulled the things off her aching feet. Next, she switched into her pajamas—the same she had worn the night Crowley had told her of the alphas. Then, as she pulled her hair back into a messy bun, her eyes fell onto her laptop. The name Mordiggian had spoken, Lovecraft, was rolling around in her mind. Before she knew it, she was at her computer, searching for anything and everything she could find. As it turned out, H.P. Lovecraft was an author known for his horror and weird fiction—particularly his Cthulhu mythos. Jo dug a little deeper, and the more she found… the worse she felt.

Apparently, Lovecraft was an atheist, but was curious of a scientific variety. But this didn't exclude mystical or ritualistic trials—such as séances. Some conspiracy theorists even supposed that he performed several of those rituals and séances _successfully_ , which is why his writings were about what they were about. Some of those theorists say that his fascination with other dimensions was a big part of those experimental rituals. Jo's stomach couldn't take much more. She closed all that she had found, opening a fresh search engine window on her browser. But, her fingers poise above the keys, she simply stared at her screen.

The closer she got to learn about the nitty-gritty of Purgatory, the more it cemented the fact that it was no good. She _had_ to get Castiel to listen. To make him understand that this deal with Crowley, this partnership… it was no good. Something told her that the very world was at stake. And, albeit a selfish endeavor, Jo knew that getting Castiel to see all of this was also the only way she was ever going to get the necklace off. Crowley was never going to remove it. It made Jo too cooperative… too useful to him. His slave, unable to even dream of fighting back for fear of her immortal soul. Jo's hand grabbed at the ruby heart, fiddling with it like she had so many times before.

She sighed, forcing herself to let it go for the moment, and thought more on Castiel. It wasn't a giant leap to make it to the favor he had asked of her—keeping an eye out for the weapons of Heaven. So Jo began her research, one particular weapon the angel had mentioned—the Moses Staff—sticking out to her. She researched anything she could think of. She checked all around the United States to see if any museums had gotten in any interesting staff exhibits. That had led her to some pretty disturbing, erotic-themed museum sites. But then, she began to expand her net, thinking of more than just the physical object. The plagues of Egypt… she began to find cases, instances where there were some deaths that sounded damned familiar. And all of the cases were coming out of the same town: Easter, Pennsylvania. Jo grinned, pushing back from the desk. She pursed her lips, trying to think of the next best course of action. After all, there was a chance she could be wrong about the connection. She didn't think she was… but, just in case. An image of Castiel flashed across the huntress's mind's eye, and she frowned. She remembered how weary he had looked when he had asked her for this favor, how tired. Jo cast her eyes up on the ceiling.

"Cas, it's me, Jo. You're probably busy, so you don't have to show… but I just wanted to tell you… there are these cases in Easter, Pennsylvania… I think there might be a weapon there. Might want to keep an eye out on that place. Um, yeah… that's it. Uh… amen?" Jo prayed.

She waited a moment. What for, she wasn't sure. But finally, as her stomach growled, she took it on faith that Castiel had received the message. Her stomach growled again, urging her out of the chair, and out of the room. She had found her appetite increasing, for reasons she couldn't explain. She was no less trapped by Crowley and the necklace than before… maybe she had just realized—or her body had—that starving herself was no way to find an escape. Jo wound her way through the halls of the manor, coming to a stop in the large, cold kitchen.

It was Tuscan inspired, the décor. Beige, rough tiles covered the floor, with the walls in the same burnt sienna with grape trim. Two walls were covered with counters and cabinets, with a large island counter—with attached stove top—in the very center of the kitchen. Copper pots hung underneath the high cabinets across from the island counter, and this is where Jo headed, making a stop by the black, large refrigerator to pull out deli-sliced chicken and some cheddar cheese. On her way to the cutting board underneath the shiny pots, she picked up a loaf of wheat bread to drag along.

It always fairly surprised Jo that Crowley kept the kitchen as stocked as he did. She was almost positive that the filled cabinets couldn't all be just for her. After all, she was sure that demons didn't have to eat as humans did. Then again, she amended as she pulled out two slices of bread and began to slowly fill them with the chicken, demons did tend to enjoy more of the simple pleasures of human life, like food, drink, and sex. She knew that Crowley definitely enjoyed his drink. She laughed, thinking of the various bottles of liquor she had seen about the manor. She laid on two slices of cheese on top of her chicken as she heard the click of shoes on the tile behind her.

"Glad that you've handled your depression, lack of food issue," Crowley said from right behind her, causing her to jump and whirl.

He was smiling at her, his long, black coat oddly missing—leaving only the expensive suit underneath visible. It was all in black, the suit, save for a deep, blood red tie this evening. He laughed at her.

"You know, you're rather a hermit," Crowley said, as Jo turned back to her sandwich. "You really should join me for a drink one night after a hunt. Might do you wonders."

Jo glared down at her sandwich so strongly that she wondered if she continued it much longer if her bread would toast.

"We're not friends, Crowley," she said, as evenly as possible. "I only drink with _friends_."

The sound of a knife being removed from its place in a block made her blood run cold. Her eyes shot up to a pot above her head, watching in its coppery reflection as Crowley eyeballed a large butcher's knife.

"I heard you, Joanna. I heard you praying to Castiel earlier this evening. And I wonder. Should I angel-proof this manor, like I had my last? I mean, is that _really_ going to be a problem?"

Jo whirled, leaning back against the edge of the counter. Her heart thudded in her chest, her brain rabbiting around, anxious and panicked that she might be struck, truly alone, with Crowley and whatever other demons waltzed in and out of the manor if he so chose to angel proof it. This was the very last thing she wanted. As pissed as she was with Castiel… as much as she questioned the angel's judgment… he was still her only friend in this. Crowley could and would take that away from her, and she was desperate to keep him from doing so. Of course, she wouldn't give the demon the satisfaction of letting him see that on her face. She kept her look even, stoic, as she stared the King of Hell down.

He stalked closer to her, idly, slowly, turning the knife back and forth in his hand… letting the florescent light of the kitchen play off the blade.

"I also wonder, love, if you remember a certain conversation we had some time ago. The one where you're my, _not_ Castiel's, pet."

Jo tried. She really did try to keep it in. But that familiar, rage-filled flame licked up at her insides.

"I'm nobody's _pet_ ," she growled.

Crowley closed the distance between the two of them. Their bodies, from his leg locking her against the counter as he wedged his knee in between her legs, to their torsos, were touching. She could feel his hot breath on her cheeks as she turned her face away, and she could even detect a hint of sulfur there. He lifted the butcher knife to her cheek, resting the cool blade against her tender flesh, flat-side down. With his left hand, he reached up, hooking a finger and thumb around the chain of the cursed necklace. He tugged on it, just hard enough to remind Jo that it was there—as if wearing it day in and day out weren't enough.

"I don't know about that, _pet_. I do seem to have you on a leash," he whispered.

"Only way you can keep a girl these days, huh, Crowley? Although, I suppose Nell seems willing enough," Jo snapped.

A deep throated chuckle escaped Crowley's lips as he slid the knife's blade, dull-edge against her flesh, down her cheek. He continued to move it down her jaw, pulling it slowly underneath her chin, and he let the too-sharp tip of it graze her neck. She hissed as she felt the pull of the skin on the blade.

"There are worse things, Joanna. Worse things other than our pretty little trinket. I've been in Hell a long, long time, princess. Longer than what has even passed here on Earth. There are worse things, girl," he said, leaning in to whisper directly in her ear. "And I know how to do them _all_."

He pulled the knife down her shoulder now, continuing down her arm, letting the tip of it bite into her skin just above the crook of her elbow. She hissed, feeling a droplet of warm blood trail after the blade. Jo's breath caught, wondering what Crowley was going to do next. Something told her that these threats were more than idle, but, at the moment, she couldn't tell if they were just threats… or promises.

Suddenly, Crowley pulled away from her, smiling, and flipped the knife in the air. He caught the blade gingerly, but easily, and offered her the wooden handle. She took it, and she hated the way her hands shook as she did.

"Just thought you ought to know," he said, cheerily. "Now, finish your sandwich. Can't afford to have you fall out on me… especially after the wonderful job you did bringing me the Alpha Ghoul this evening."

Crowley made his way across the kitchen, opening a cabinet there and withdrawing a bottle of caramel colored liquor and a scotch glass. He poured it, almost to the brim, as Jo did nothing but eye him silently.

"You know," he said, putting the bottle away, "we should have a movie night or something. Get to know one another now that we live in the same house. Could be fun. Perhaps after your next hunt or something. Cheers."

And with that, he lifted his glass, took a drink, and walked from the room. Jo felt her knees quake, her grip on the knife he had handed her tightening involuntarily. Hot tears were falling quietly from her eyes, and she whirled. With a cry of fury, she brought the knife up and stabbed it down, as hard as she could, into the wooden cutting board beside her sandwich. She leaned forward, spending the next few moments just trying to get her body under control.


	7. Chapter Seven

Jo dropped the unconscious, beaten half to Hell and back shapeshifter on the concrete floor of the operation room. Well, more correctly, she threw the limp monster down, like she was unloading a heavy bag of grain or something. Then, she stepped back, pressing her back against the wall just on the right of one of the doors, sliding down it to rest on her floor, her knees pulled up.

Crowley, who stood there with no body or medical equipment in sight, arched a brow at her. He gestured to the body, scoffing.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

Jo sighed and shrugged. "I don't know, but you better tie him up or something. I don't know how much longer that tranq I hit him with has in it."

Crowley put his back to her, making his way over to his medical tray—where Jo noticed a flask and a scotch glass sitting.

"That's not what I pay you for," he muttered.

Jo leaned her head back against the wall, groaning and letting her eyelids slide shut. Another handful of weeks had passed, and Jo had been on numerous hunts. Apparently, Mordiggian had proved inadequate as far as information on Purgatory went. Crowley had already informed her that the Alpha Ghoul was dead. Fat lot of good all that pain had been for. But, as Jo kept telling herself, the less that the King of Hell learned of Purgatory, the better it was for her in the long run. She might be bringing him monsters still, but if they continued giving nothing, then, really, all she was doing was hunting. Saving unsuspecting innocents. And that was fine by her.

"I'm tired," she moaned as she pulled her head upright again, opening her eyes.

Her vision was blurry from a severe need for a good night's rest. But when they cleared, and Crowley didn't reply, she found herself surveying the demon. His clothes were rumpled, even torn some at the seams. He stopped, mid-pour, to glare at her from over his shoulder. He turned, glass and flask still in hand.

"You look like shit," Jo said before he could say anything.

He gazed down at her, not even a hint of a smirk on his face. "Likewise."

Jo smirked up at him, leaning her head to the side.

"Is everything not going too hot down in Hell? People got a few problems with the new boss, maybe?" she asked.

Crowley growled, slipping the flask back inside his jacket.

"If I were you, my dear, I'd shut my cake hole. Now."

Jo scoffed. "Hit a nerve there, did I?"

Crowley pointed a finger at her from around his glass, taking a step forward.

"Apparently, you've just decided that you need a daily regimen of that bauble. Or maybe it _is_ time that we try for something new."

Jo rolled her eyes, but before she could even make a reply, Crowley vanished. She pushed herself off the wall, rising to her feet. She turned a few times in place, as if this was some sort of trick he was playing on her. But he was gone. Nowhere in sight. Her eyes fell to the still unconscious shifter at her feet. She sighed.

"Sure. Yeah, just vanish so I _still_ have to put this bastard up," she groaned, reaching down to hook the monster under the shoulders.

She dragged him up the hall, and down another, until she reached an empty cell. On one side was a vampire, while a werewolf was located in the other cell. If Crowley had some sort of organization going for these monsters, she didn't know it… nor did she give a damn. She half-tossed, half-rolled the shifter inside, slamming the cell shut. She rolled her shoulder, rubbing it as she made her way out of the prison.

The walk from the prison and the manor seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Or maybe she was just getting used to it. Although, even the demon doorman seemed less willing to screw with her. Now, she just buzzed him, the gates swung open, and she was within her room in minutes.

She stood in the middle of her wide, empty floor, putting her hands to her lower back and stretching. Things popped, and she moaned. Her eyes immediately fell to the bathroom, and she smiled. She was almost completely nude before she had even shut the door. She had the shower on, steam filling the cold tiled room, as she stepped in. Her hands brushed the necklace, groaning at its constant presence, but she found it rather easy to ignore. The heat of the water was too relaxing as she took her time, leisurely washing her hair and body. Once she was fully clean, she allowed herself a few more moments to let the water rush over her. Finally, her body too tired to hold her upright any longer, she shut the water off, shaking herself dry a bit, and wringing out her hair. Turning toward the fogged glass door of the shower, she grabbed it and pulled it aside without a thought, stepping out onto the soft rug on the floor.

The sound of a throat clearing made Jo jump and yelp, grabbing for the towel she had left to hand on the outside of the door. She scrambled to wrap it about her nude form as she realized that the bathroom door was open once more, and that Castiel stood just on the other side, his gaze politely averted away.

"What the hell, Cas?" Jo snapped, making sure she was completely covered by the large, soft black towel before she stepped into her chilly room.

"I'm sorry," he said, turning and dropping a large, brown paper bag on her bed.

The bag was rolled shut at the top, and Castiel moved toward the foot of the bed, looking somewhat agitated. Arching a brow, and double checking the tuck at the top of her towel, she moved toward the bag, touching it gingerly.

"What is it?" she asked, unrolling the top.

She figured that, if it were dangerous to open, Castiel would stop her. As it was, he sighed, shaking his head.

"It's the Staff of Moses," the angel explained.

Jo finished opening the bag, her curiosity peaked as she wondered how a whole staff was fitting inside a bag that looked just big enough to hold a six pack of beer. She got her answer soon enough as the bag was unfurled, and she dumped the contents out. Pieces of wood, once one looked at them as a whole, that were clearly from a staff piled upon the sheets. Jo turned toward Castiel who made an I-don't-know gesture.

"An angel by the name of Balthazar, one I thought had died while fighting the rise of the apocalypse, stole the weapons. And this one, he cut up, spreading about the place."

Jo shoved the pieces of the staff back into the bag, closing it once more. She hopped up on the bed, pointing to the bag of staff pieces.

"Does this mean it's broken now? That the power's gone from the staff?"

"Actually, it means the contrary. All of the pieces possess equally the same amount of power as the whole."

Jo shrugged. "Then why do you seem so upset? You got a weapon back."

"I just don't understand," Castiel said, snatching up the bag and holding it as if the mere thought of the contents disgusted him. "I don't understand how any angel in Heaven could desecrate the Moses staff by _cutting_ it up. It's wrong."

Jo's tongue snaked out, and her smarter half told her to keep her thoughts to herself. But she was tired, and her smarter half was not the part of her that was awake.

"You mean, like any angel in Heaven could ally themselves with the King of Hell?" she snipped.

Castiel sighed, turning to glare at her.

"I tire of your judgments, Jo," he said, sounding a bit edgy.

Jo shrugged. "And I tire of giving them."

She paused for a moment, as both of them looked away. She rubbed the soles of her feet on the soft carpet, just trying to lessen the intensity of the silence that had filled the room. Finally, she looked back at the angel.

"Crowley heard me praying to you, when I told you about Easter, Pennsylvania. He said he might angel-proof the house, if I don't learn that I'm… _his_ ," she said softly.

"He'll do it," he answered. "If he thinks it'll hurt you."

Jo's hands reached up, touching the necklace that hung just over the towel. She had never doubted that. But, she had hoped—had dared to hope—that telling Castiel this would wake him up a bit. Make him realize that Jo was nothing more than a slave to Crowley. And maybe, just maybe, Heaven's trenchcoat-ed angel might remove the necklace, freeing her. But Castiel only turned to lock his eyes on her.

"You should be more careful not to anger him on such matters," he said.

Jo had known that she had no reason to hope. But to have it dashed so easily. Anger grew inside her, and she hopped of the bed, pointing a slender finger in the angel's face.

"Get out, Castiel. If that's all you can say about that… then _please_ leave," she said.

He didn't reply. He didn't even try to argue. A flutter of wings later, and Castiel was gone. Jo moved toward the foot of the bed, taking a seat back upon it. Her towel was loosened a bit, but she didn't care. Tears welled in her eyes as she wrapped her arms about herself.

"Damn him," she muttered. "Damn him."

She sat there a while longer, just sniffling and glaring down at the floor. Finally, with a shuddering gasp, she looked up, her eyes aimed on the closet with the full intent to finally dress herself. However, just as she stood, Crowley appeared in the middle of the room. And if the look in his eyes were any indication, he was _livid_. Jo grabbed the loosened towel, wrapping it as tightly as she could about herself before re-tucking it. Crowley grinned at her, and the look in eyes changed from livid to malicious. With a hint of murderous. He gave a soft huff and opened his arms wide.

"Just the girl I was hoping to see," Crowley said, taking a step forward.

Jo backed away, the small of her back pressing into the edge of the tall bed. Crowley lifted a hand, pointing his finger skyward as if he were about to make a point.

"I've just had a hell of a night," he said.

He began to pace a small space of a couple of feet or so in front of her, leaving her no room whatsoever to move past him.

"See, I was just at Bobby Singer's house. That's who summoned me, you see. He trapped me in a devil's trap. And then, using nefarious means—and his two favorite whipping boys, Sam and Dean—proceeded to _force_ me to return his soul to him. To break contract."

Jo blinked, taking an unconscious step closer to the demon.

"Bobby's _soul_? He sold it to you?" she asked.

Crowley stopped, leering at her. "Yes. Of course, I told him I _would_ give it back. I lied, of course. But hey, he got a good deal. I threw in the bit about his legs working for free, basically. Oh, which, the sodding prick _made_ me keep that part in. So now he has his soul _and_ his legs."

Jo was reeling, and she found herself leaning back on the bed for support. Bobby was alive, well, and walking again. And he had sold his soul for it. With the intention of getting it back… which, he just had. The thought of it had Jo smiling, happy. But now she felt Crowley's gaze on her once again, and she lifted her eyes to find him having moved to loom over her.

"To sum up, darling, I've had a rotten night. And I'm taking it out on _you_ ," he said.

He followed that with a flick of his wrist, and Jo flew across the room, plastering herself to the nearest, flat wall of the room. Her towel had come undone and fallen way long before the collision. She felt a blush creeping up her face, and she was sure that it was covering her entire body. She desperately wanted to cover herself, and she struggled to free her hands—trapped against the wall on either side of her—but it was no use. Crowley grinned a serpent's smile at her, moving closer and closer.

"So lovely," he murmured, pressing a hand to her lower stomach, running it slowly up her body until his fingertips grazed the underside of her breasts.

"Stop it," she hissed at him.

"Oh, Joanna, I've barely begun. First, the appetizer," he said, snapping his fingers.

The necklace activated, and she screamed. The tense force holding her body seemed to tighten, and she was suffocating from the combined pain much sooner than usual. She wanted to kick and trash, but Crowley was keeping her in place. Finally, he snapped his fingers again, and the pain ebbed away, leaving Jo gasping.

"Let me go!" she screeched at him, and he laughed.

"Yes, because that always works," he ridiculed, turning away from her.

His eyes scanned the room, finally falling to a glass Jo had gotten a night ago when she had been thirsty. He honed in on it, declaring it perfect as he shattered it on the corner of the writing desk. Crowley arrived back in front of Jo, lifting up the largest shard of glass and bringing its edge down, diagonally, on the left side of her stomach. She cried out as she felt it split open her flesh, the blood that spilled hot on her chilled, exposed flesh.

"Such a pretty, pretty girl," Crowley said, lifting his free hand and curling it into a fist.

As he did, Jo felt her insides tug downward, and she was sure something internally had torn. She curled forward—as much as Crowley had allowed—and felt the insult be added to injury as the stretching of her external wound made it all the more unbearable. Crowley's tongue snaked out, licking his lips as he freed his hand from the fist, resting the fingertips in Jo's freshly spilled blood, just outside of the wound.

"Please, stop," Jo groaned.

"Ooh, begging. Didn't count you as such. I like it. Do it more," he said, moving his hand up.

She felt it. She felt him wiggle the tip of his index finger inside of the wound, and she screamed out. He kept it moving, and Jo kept crying out, tears streaming down her face. Crowley was laughing at her now, withdrawing his finger and slipping his hand underneath her right breast, and Jo could feel the slick blood he trailed all the way there. Jo sobbed once, trying her best to hold it in as Crowley lifted the breast just a little, bringing his shard of glass up to cut her, once, underneath… just under the curve. Jo hissed, turning her face away as Crowley repeated the action to her other breast.

He ran his finger over both cuts, and moved his hand up over breasts, smearing the blood over them. Then he pulled his hands down, running them over her thighs. Jo shook her head.

"Stop. Stop. Stop," Jo said, over and over.

Crowley laughed at her. He clucked his tongue at her, shaking his head.

"What's the matter, Joanna? Never had a boyfriend play rough with you?"

The shard of glass came down, and he ran it up her inner, right thigh, slicing the flesh open there too. Jo felt the blood run down the length of her leg, and Crowley ran his hand over it, hooking his thumb under where her leg connected to her torso.

"Thought you could use a little heat there, darling. You should thank me, really, for that," he said.

He made another cut on the opposite thigh and backed away. Jo's face was as soaked in tears as her body was in her own blood. Surely she had lost too much. It just looked like _so_ much. But she was hunter, and she'd been through her share of scrapes. Hell, a couple of hellhounds had shredded her. She knew, deep down, that the amount of blood covering her body was nowhere near enough to kill her. And she knew that Crowley knew that too. In fact, she figured that had been the point.

"Now, let's have some real fun," Crowley said, snapping his fingers once more.

Jo had just enough time to register what was about to happen before it happened. She screamed, "No!" But it was too late, of course. The necklace activated and that bone-deep fire and pain filled her up, amplifying the pain that she already felt. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and Jo imagined them evaporating away as the pain made her feel close to combusting. She had never felt anything like this. Even the pain she could remember from the hellhounds hadn't felt as _this_.

"You know, this is quite therapeutic. I think that every time I have to put down a rebellion in Hell, or punish some demon that's too moronic to follow simple orders, that I should just follow that up with a nice, stress-relieving torture of you. And, I would be crazy to not admit that I rather enjoy doing this with you lacking in your clothing."

She didn't know when she had started. But somewhere, along the way in the torture, Jo had begun to pray. To silently pray and beg for the pain to end. For Crowley to stop. And, above all else, for Castiel. Apparently, Castiel heard her.

" _Enough_ , Crowley. Let her go," the angel demanded, appearing behind the King of Hell.

Crowley turned, gazing over his shoulder. He sighed, snapping his fingers once, and the pain of the necklace stopped, as well the invisible tethers holding her to the wall. Jo fell to the floor, landing in a heap as Castiel rounded Crowley, kneeling and taking Jo in his arms.

Castiel's hands were warm on her body, and she could already feel him drawing the pain away, healing the wounds Crowley had caused.

"She prayed for you," Crowley said.

Castiel glared up at him. "You were killing her."

The demon laughed. "Oh, miles to go before that would've happened. You of all people should know what I'm talking about, Cas."

Castiel chose not to reply, as he pulled Jo closer to him. As soon as the haze of pain cleared from Jo's eyes, she glanced up at Crowley, who smirked down at her.

"You'll regret this," he said, vanishing.

Jo motioned for the towel, and Castiel grabbed for it, giving it over. As Jo dragged it over her body, concealing her nudity, she gulped, and gazed up at the angel still holding her.

"I believe him," she whispered.

Castiel only continued to hold her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was written before the whole, Hand of God storyline. Hence the appearance of the Moses Staff.


	8. Chapter Eight

There was a list of things Jo never wanted to experience again. The torture that Crowley had put her through a few weeks ago was on it, but she knew that that wasn't really realistic. Crowley was a demon. A demon who was now the King of Hell. She knew that there would be more to come. But it still made the list, otherwise, she had bigger problems than a cursed necklace. But one of the other things on this list was never hunting solo with Samuel Campbell again. But he had sent his group off on some other hunt, and, on Crowley's orders of course, had went on a hunt for a vampire who might know the location of the Alpha Vampire. And as many things as Samuel Campbell was—from what Jo could surmise—he wasn't stupid. At least, not where a hunt was concerned. He knew he still needed back-up, and had called on Jo.

So now, they dragged the knocked-out vampire into the prison, hurling his sorry ass into the nearest empty cell—which was in between two filled cells as the number of monsters inside only continued to grow. They slammed the door shut, and Samuel turn to Jo, smiling—an odd expression on his face, she realized. Smiling was just too… joyous for his stony features.

"So, you follow this vampire from what nest? One you said that Dean had infiltrated it?" she asked, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

Samuel nodded. "Yeah, it was a nest in Illinois. Dean had gotten bitten and turned by a vampire. But I had an old family recipe for a cure that I used to fix him."

Jo's eyes doubled in size. "He was turning? How did that happen? Where the hell was Sam during all of this?"

Samuel shrugged, shaking his head. "You know, though, that's the damnedest thing. Sam saw it happen and didn't stop it. And then, later, I just knew. I knew that Sam had wanted a man on the inside… one that could get us more information on the alpha. Honestly, I wouldn't have taken Sam for that type—based on what I've heard of his past self—but it happened. Something's off, I think. Real bad."

Jo's eyes narrowed, glaring at Samuel. She shook her head.

"You're wrong. I mean, did Sam _say_ that's why he did it?"

"No. Of course not. Would you admit to sending your brother to the lions?"

Jo bit her lip, continuing to shake her head at the older man. "You're wrong. I know that Sam's off or whatever… but he _can't_ be that bad off to do something like risk Dean's life like that."

Before Samuel could say anything in reply, Nell appeared beside Jo. She looked very annoyed, and she tossed a set of keys to the huntress. Jo arched a brow at her.

"Crowley wants the vamp in the operation room. Now," the demon said.

Jo grinned. "What's the matter, Nell? Boyfriend not givin' you any lovin'?"

Nell smirked back, crossing her arms. "No, to be honest. But I heard he gave _you_ plenty a couple of weeks ago. Had to get your angel buddy to save you, like the scared little girl you are."

Nell didn't give Jo a chance to reply. With a shake of her red head, she vanished. Jo gripped the keys, growling and shoving one into the lock of the recently filled cell. She slid the door open, not caring for the loud _clang_ it made that echoed throughout the hall. She and Samuel dragged the vampire back out, each with an arm under each of the vampire's shoulders, and headed in the direction of the operation room.

"Nell really hit your buttons, didn't she?" Samuel asked as they dragged the vampire along. "What did Crowley _do_ to you?"

Jo jerked a little harder than necessary on the unconscious creature, forcing Samuel to match her speedy pace.

"So, where's your goon squad at, Samuel? What red herring hunt are they on? And, more importantly, do they know yet that you're Crowley's willing bitch?" Jo asked, desperate to change the subject without seeming too obvious.

To her great surprise, Samuel laughed. Jo stared at him like he had lost his mind.

"I didn't think what I had said was funny," she said.

Samuel sighed. "It wasn't. It's just… you sort of remind me of Dean. What little I know of him, that sounds like something he would've said."

As the operation room came into sight, Jo felt her stomach curl in on itself. She was suddenly struck with the overwhelming need to sit on the floor and cry. She missed her friends—Sam, Dean, Bobby—more than she would ever willingly admit aloud, lest Crowley have another weapon against her. But being told by someone that barely knew Dean that she sounded like the eldest Winchester—and to know, deep in her heart, that Samuel was right about that assessment—hurt a lot worse than any torture that Crowley had bestowed upon her yet. She stopped, pulling Samuel to a stop as well.

"I can take it from here," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"Are you sure?"

Samuel nodded, letting go of the vampire and helping Jo to get a better grip on the monster. With another, single nod, he made his goodbyes and turned around. Jo watched as he disappeared around the nearest corner, marveling at the fact that this was the only time the two of them had parted amiably. She sighed, dragging the monster the rest of the way into the operation room.

Crowley was there, his plastic white apron already ready over his suit—coat and jacket missing. His tray of tools—all of the tools shining clean—pulled beside a gurney fitted with leather straps and a foot hold that was leveled vertically. The King of Hell jerked his head in the direction of the table.

"Strap him in," he ordered, turning around to examine his various medical blades, obviously trying to decide which one he would like to start with.

Jo didn't protest, managing—without any help—to get the lolling vampire on the foot hold and strap him in, as tightly as she could manage. Of course, it might have been useful, even a little funny, had she not tightened the straps and left the monster to get loose and attack Crowley. Perhaps he might've even released the other monsters in the prison, and perhaps they would've turned on their captor. But that only led to bad places, since most of them had a reason to include Jo on their list of "To Kill." So she strapped him in, and stepped back, crossing her arms.

"Done," she announced, as Crowley didn't bother to turn from his tool examination. "Got any other jobs for me tonight?"

That got a stare from him. He turned, eyeing Jo, surveying her from head to toe and back again. It made her feel terribly uncomfortable, considering how much the demon had seen of her body, but she kept it hidden.

"You're doing that oddly cooperative again thing you've been doing for a while now," he noted, putting his back to her.

And he was right. This wasn't the first time she had asked for more work. And it wasn't even that she was asking. It was that she was asking without it sounding like a huge burden. She didn't know what that was about, and, honestly, she wasn't ready to examine that fact about herself any time soon.

"You know what I wonder?" Crowley asked from over his shoulder.

Jo scoffed. "Yes, because I do spend my days just _dying_ to know what the King of Hell is thinking about."

She could almost feel the sardonic grin on the demon's face, without even seeing it. She frowned, knowing that that meant she was getting to know him way more than she would ever like to.

"I wonder," Crowley picked up flawlessly, "if you think that if you're good, if you play your part, that I'll not punish you for calling Cas down and stopping our fun?"

Jo pursed her lips. "I didn't mean to, okay? I was in pain, and I prayed for it to stop. It's a reflex. Is it really my fault that I happen to know an angel that will actually answer?"

She heard Crowley set down the blade he had picked up, heard it _clink_ softly amongst its fellows, but the demon still didn't turn. A moment passed in silence, with Crowley still not turning to look her in the eye. Finally, he spoke.

"Beg me," he said.

Jo curled up her nose, her arms falling limply to her sides. "Beg you for _what_?"

Now he turned, walking toward her. And something told Jo that if she backed away, he would only follow. But she'd done enough balking recently, and she was through with it for the moment.

"Well, I so enjoyed hearing you beg the other night, that I thought it might be _fun_ to hear you beg me not to angel-proof the house. So beg me, darling. Beg me not to do it."

He was as close to her now as he had been in the kitchen, running the knife down her body. As close as he was the night he tortured her. But the only weapon he had was himself, and Jo knew well enough that that was all he truly needed. She bit her bottom lip, every fiber of her being telling her to argue. To tell him to go fuck himself. _Not_ to beg against the angel-proofing. But his threats weren't idle. She knew that, now better than ever. Her body trembling, fighting against herself, she locked her brown eyes with Crowley's green ones.

"Please don't do it. Don't angel-proof the house," she said.

She kept her tone even. No pleading. Just a couple of statements. And Crowley grinned, leaning in to brush his lips against her ear.

"I know you can do better than that," he whispered. "One more shot. Beg for it, Joanna."

Jo sucked in a breath. She wetted her lips, noting on how Crowley had not pulled back. She summoned all the fear inside of her, all the fear of losing her one connection to something remotely good and helpful to her. And she released it.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, Crowley. Don't do it. _Please_."

She put everything into it, and Crowley finally backed away, satisfied.

"Much better," he said, turning back to his tray. "And, as a matter of fact, I do have a job for you."

Jo released a shuddering breath, the last unstable move in her body, as she took a step forward, eyeing the weapons in front of the demon.

"What is it?"

"I want the Alpha Shifter that got away from Sam and Dean. He's one of the more powerful alphas, but the only way we're gonna get him is bait."

Jo barely managed to hold in the groan. Her thoughts, however, escaped.

"I don't like where this is going," she murmured.

Crowley turned, smiling. "I want you to keep hunting shifters, bringing them in. We've already seen how he goes after his own kind, protects them like a bloody mother hen. Keep bringing the shifters in, and either he'll come to us… or one of them will send us in the right direction."

Simple enough. Jo nodded, aware that this now meant her night was to be filled with shifter research. She knew that Crowley had meant that last order to be a dismissal, but Jo pointed in the direction of the vampire that was now slowly coming to.

"And the vampires? You seem to be sending me and Samuel after them a lot. Should I keep on with that?"

Crowley shook his head. "No. Focus on shifters. I'll let Chromdome keep on with the vampires. I need their alpha too, but he's so deep in hiding that not many of the ones that have been brought in could ever dream of knowing his location. But one must."

The vampire was finally, fully awake, tugging at his too-tight restraints. Jo nodded, turning toward the doors.

"Then I'll get on it. See you," she said, exiting the room.

She made her way to the manor, finding her walk almost disappearing in her memory as she entered her bedroom. She stretched, taking a seat immediately at the desk and loading up the laptop. But, before she could even pull up a browser, she heard that fluttering sound that announced Castiel's arrive.

She turned in the chair, shocked at the angel's appearance. Had he been human, he would look like he hadn't slept in a hundred years, which, on a creature that required no sleep, this look seemed a million times worse. He was just so _weary_. So worn. It immediately made Jo's heart skip a beat in the oh-God-I'm-gonna-have-a-heart-attack way.

"Cas… what's wrong?" she asked.

He sighed, putting his back to her. He shuffled—actually, shuffled—his way over to her bed, taking a seat on the very edge of the foot of it.

"There was a battle today. In Heaven, amongst the angels. Many were lost, on both sides," he said.

"Oh," Jo said.

There wasn't too much she could say to follow. The outpouring, the tangible grief, exuding from Castiel was enough. The two sat in silence for a moment with Castiel looking dejectedly down at the floor and Jo staring at him as if he might suddenly erupt into emotion. Finally, he sighed again, raising his gaze to match hers.

"I spoke to Dean today," he said.

Jo's face lit up, and she almost jumped to her feet.

"Really?"

Castiel nodded. "He called me down, thinking that they might be looking for Gabriel's Horn of Truth. Honestly, I believe he really wanted my opinion of Sam's condition."

Jo nodded. "Is it really that bad? I've been hearing from… I just, I've heard."

She felt her heart break a little as the angel nodded. Another moment of silence passed before Jo finally shook her head.

"So, Horn of Truth? That's a weapon of Heaven, right? Was it there? Was Dean right?" she asked.

"No. The effects were… similar, but the Horn was nowhere to be found. I searched," Castiel answered.

"Well, what's happening? What is that they're dealing with?"

"People sharing the truth, for good or for ill. As soon as a person is cursed and asks for the truth, everyone begins to share it with them. Other than the Horn, I've no idea what the problem could be."

Suddenly, Jo laughed.

"It's Veritas," she said.

Castiel raised a brow.

"She's a goddess of truth. Dangerous if invoked, as that town's probably seeing now."

"How do you know?" Castiel asked.

Jo shrugged. "Honestly? Years ago, in high school, I did an English paper on her."

Castiel looked confused, for just a second, before he smiled. But the look faded as he shook his head.

"Well, I'm sure, given the time, that the problem is close to being rectified now. If it hasn't been already. And I'm sure I'll be hearing from Dean again soon. I promised I would look in on the problem with Sam."

Jo leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Will you? Look in on what's wrong with Sam, that is? Or is Sam more useful as the cold hunter that he is now?"

She had never seen Castiel angry. But she was seeing it now. He rose to his feet, his eyes flashing.

"Of course I will. Sam is my friend. But my priorities in Heaven must come first. The war must be won," he growled.

Jo's brow furrowed. She nodded. "Of course."

There was no sarcasm in those words. She meant it. She knew that the war was important. That Castiel had to come out the victor. She just didn't agree that it should be by "any means necessary." This seemed to relax him, as he leaned back against one of the bed posts. He looked up at her, concern on his face now.

"I haven't asked. Are you… all right? After Crowley's torturing?"

Jo shifted in her seat, aware that Crowley was not the only one who got a full view of her body. But, for some reason, she felt a little better about Castiel's visual, than she did Crowley's. She laughed, shrugging.

"Honestly, you healed most of my problems that night. All that's left is a little bit of aching."

He moved toward her, hand out, and Jo knew that he meant to heal the ache. But she put her hand up, batting his gently away.

"Save your strength. Believe me, I can handle soreness. Focus yourself on more important things, like winning that war."

He looked surprised, flabbergasted even. Jo sighed.

"Don't misunderstand me," she explained. "I hate that you're teamed up with Crowley. Maybe even more after that bastard's little torture session with me. But no matter how pissed I am at you for all that, I still want you on your toes. I know you're still my friend, just like you are with Sam and Dean. I saw that when you saved me. So, I still want you to be safe. Use your power for that."

Castiel smiled, wide and genuine.

"You might never know how much those words mean to me," he admitted quietly.

He left before Jo could say anything more, and Jo felt a small smile grace her lips. She turned back around in her chair, resting her hands on the laptop's keyboard. Her heart decidedly lighter than it had been in a while, she set about searching for shifter sightings.


	9. Chapter Nine

Jo wasn't in a good place, mentally speaking, during her most current hunt. Things had been strange since the beginning. First of all, they were after a pair of lamias, a monster which—according to any and all research Jo could find on the subject—rarely set foot outside of Greece. Of course, in said research, she had also stumbled across the fact that Sam and Dean had taken one down in Wisconsin. Of course, the news article had not explicitly said such a thing, but Jo knew the Winchesters well enough to see the signs. And, thanks to that article, she already knew that fire—and salt and rosemary, thanks to additional research—was the way to go. But that was only the tip of the "off" iceberg. The second little fact about this hunt that had set alarms ringing in the huntress's head was the fact that Malcolm and Nell were not with her. No, instead, Crowley had sent her with two completely different demons—men that Jo had not bothered to learn the names of. Crowley had only told her that Malcolm and Nell were needed elsewhere, and that they'd be back with her on the next hunt.

And, as strange as it was, Jo was finding herself missing the more familiar demons sorely. She knew their fighting styles, and they knew hers. It was making her hunts a bit easier—not easy, but easier. But with the two newer demons, Jo was blaming every blow the female lamia—one of a pair—was landing on them. They had tracked the woman—whose claws reminded Jo of some large bird of prey—to a local pizza joint, which, to Jo's everlasting relief, had a brick pizza oven build in it. The lamia was strong, but Jo was getting hits in on it. But she honestly was unsure on what, if any, damage it was doing. Jo was getting tired, her soreness from Crowley's torturing just now going away—only to be replaced by the freshness of a hunt and lack of a hot, hot shower.

"Get the damn fire started!" Jo shouted at the two demons—nearly identical to each other, both with bright blond hair and deep blue eyes—who stood and looked on at the fight.

"Crowley wants the lamia alive," Demon One said, and Jo sighed, ducking under a slash of claws from the lamia.

The lamia's long, black mane of hair whipped around as the creature pulled up her leather-clad leg to try and land a roundhouse in Jo's chest. However, Jo continued her duck, rolling to come up behind the monster and land a kick of her own in the lamia's back. The monster collided, hard, with the edge of a booth table.

"And you're sure you aren't Nell?" Jo quipped before whirled, jabbing a finger in the direction of the oven. "There's another lamia not far from here. I figure these two are mates. Start the fire, rosemary and salt. And then we'll bag the second one."

"Είμαι πάρα πολύ ισχυρή για εσάς;" the lamia said… or asked. Jo really couldn't tell, as she didn't speak Greek.

Apparently, Demon Two did, and he chuckled. Jo glared back at him.

"The fire, now!"

The lamia came charging at Jo, leaving her only enough time to whirl to the monster's left. She heard the demons get to work on the fire, and Jo sucked in a breath. All she had to do was hold off the monster for a little while longer, then she could form a fresh plan for the second lamia. The one in front of her now grinned, sharp teeth making its mouth resemble that of a shark's. It spouted something else at her in Greek, and she threw a right-hook, knocking a few of those pointy teeth out onto the floor. The monster recoiled, placing both clawed hands to its mouth in pain. Jo took full advantage of the moment. She delivered blow after blow on the monster, driving it back into the open kitchen of the restaurant—separated by the rest of the building only by a high counter that morphed into a bar farther down.

Jo could hear the strong flames of the oven before she see them, and she felt them soon after that. Apparently, demons were excellent fire starters. She kicked at the lamia again, placing the heel of her boot right on the monster's jaw.

"Rosemary and salt?" she demanded of the demons, and both nodded. "All right, now!"

The demons lunged forward, each one grabbing one of the lamia's arms. Jo grabbed both of her feet by their ankles, and, head first, they feed her body into the flames. She screamed, roaring in pain until the flames finally trailed down her body and destroyed anything left that _could_ scream. Charred and flaking, the remains fell from the oven, falling into two large chunks of burnt flesh and bone. And, oddly, it didn't smell all that bad. Jo figured it must have been the rosemary.

"Crowley wanted that lamia alive," Demon One said again.

Jo ran a hand through her hair, trying her best not to scream. Of course the demon was right. Crowley was going to be pissed. Like he always was. But Jo only sighed.

"We'll get the second one. We just need a better plan. A better way of capturing it without having to fight it for too long. These things are strong," she explained.

It took them a little bit to come up with that plan since demons, as Jo was quickly finding out, weren't planners by nature. Apparently, those like Yellow Eyes and Crowley were rarities. But once they had it, they were off. It wasn't hard to follow the male lamia's trail; he was hungry, and leaving much destruction in his wake because of it. But no bodies, of which Jo was thankful. It took them another thirty minutes to catch up with the lamia, and a simple ten to trap it. Sometimes, those demonic powers came in handy, especially when they worked on the monsters. Of course, this left Jo with the question of if all of her previous hunts with Malcolm and Nell could've been that easy. A little frozen against a wall or the ground, and then poof to the prison. They had the lamia in a cell in moments, and the two new demons left without a word. Jo only shook her head.

"Sometimes, I don't know who's screwing with me, and who isn't," she muttered, stepping back out of the lamia's clawed reach.

She rolled one of a million pains out of her shoulder, rubbing it as she did so. Her feet turned, and for the first time, in was in the direction of the exit instead of the operation room. Of course, instantly, she began to wonder if she should inform Crowley of the new addition. She paused at the end of the hall, glancing behind her as a light flickered at the other end. She bit lightly at her lip, weighing the options. Worse came worse, she could always just seek Crowley out at the manor. He seemed to pop in there at least once in a night… and Jo had a sneaking suspicion that that had everything to do with checking in on her. She hovered in place for a moment longer before shaking her head and continuing toward the exit of the building. Crowley would find her, or she would find him. She didn't have to check in with him after _every_ hunt, by God.

Her walk wasn't any different from any other night. Turn right up at the next hall, left down the one after that. However, right when she was about to turn down the hall that the exit was clearly visible on the other end of, she paused. A noise, coming from the opposite end—the opposite direction—made her stomach feel like she had swallowed a weight. It sounded like crying… but not just any crying. Like an infant crying, a baby. Jo barely gave it a thought. She turned, stepping as softly as possible to lessen the clicking of her boots on the cement, and headed in the direction of the sound. She had never been down this hall before, and she noticed that there wasn't one cell located on it. Instead, solid, metal doors—with only a rectangular window at the top and a mail-box sized hole at the bottom as the only give in their structure—lined the way, and as Jo neared the end of the hall, she caught a glimpse of familiar bright, radiant red hair. A swish of black skirt disappeared right after it, and Jo came to a stop right beside the nearest open door. She pressed her back hard up against the hall, and put all her focus on hearing the conversation going on within… which was hard to do, because the room was positively _filled_ with the sound of crying babies.

"That's the last one," Nell's voice said, and Jo heard the squeaking of wheels as something was pushed away.

"Well, well, isn't this a lovely sight? A room full of shapeshifter brats. I don't think I've seen this many bassinets since the last time I raided a nursery for Lilith," Crowley reminisced.

Jo's brow furrowed. Shifter babies? She placed a hand to her stomach, willing her panicked breath to slow. Something about this made her feel positively sick.

"And we're to use all these babies for what? Bait for the alpha?" Malcolm's voice asked.

Well, that answered why she had not had her two usually hunting partners with her tonight for the lamias. She heard the sound of Crowley's loafers on the cement floor as he shifted positions, and Jo had to fight the urge to run the other way. She pressed herself as hard as she could against the wall; anything to get her feet to stay in place.

"In a manner of speaking," Crowley drawled.

No one spoke for a moment, and Jo feared for a moment that it was because they knew of her presence. But Crowley finally sighed, and she could hear the annoyance in the move.

"Don't you remember what Baldy told us about the Alpha Shifter? He basically bypassed the tussle altogether just to snatch the babe and run."

"So you want to lure him here?" Nell asked.

"If only," Crowley scoffed. "No. I only mean to lure him out into the open. He'll be searching for the children, which will make him far easier to find and target."

"Nice," Malcolm commented, and Jo could almost imagine the look of contempt on Crowley's face as the King of Hell replied, snidely, "Quite."

Babies for bait. Innocent children with barely enough life in them to decide whether they were going to be blood-thirsty monsters or normal members of society. Parents out there worried sick or dead because of this. Jo wanted to scream. She wanted to vomit. Her whole body shook with the conflicting emotions, and she only resigned herself to standing her ground.

"So, I don't mean to sound insolent, Boss," Nell began slowly, "but why did we have to do this by ourselves? I mean, as much as the little bitch gets on my nerves, Jo could've been useful on this."

"Isn't it obvious?" Crowley exclaimed, incredulous. "Look at these adorable little buggers. Shifters or not, Miss Harvelle would've taken one look at these bouncing bundles of clawed joy and backed down. She would've been way too sympathetic to have ever brought them to me."

"But, the necklace? Don't you have it cursed or something?" Nell asked.

"In this case, I don't think it would've mattered much."

It gave Jo, oddly, both a sense of pride and fear that Crowley could have so accurately made such a call about her. She would've never brought these babies to that bastard… and he had known it. Which meant that the lamia hunt, her now extra sore ass, was nothing more than a cheap distraction. A new anger fueled her as she balled her hands into fists.

"So… after you have the Alpha… what do you plan to do with all these kids?' Malcolm asked.

Crowley chuckled. "Well. I've always wondered what roasted shifter tasted like."

Jo gagged, but silently. No more conversation followed, nor did the sound of feet exiting the room. Taking a gulp of air in, and banking of the natural laziness of demons, she dared a peek around the corner.

Crowley, Malcolm and Nell were gone. Instead, only a room filled with white, hooded, rolling basinets remained. She tiptoed her way into the room, and as soon as her first footfall echoed about the room, the infants began to cry out as one. They screamed and roared and cried like only young babies could. Jo put a cold finger to her lips, trying her best to shush them.

"I won't hurt you," she whispered. "I promise. I won't hurt you."

She made her way into the semi-circle of basinets, her eyes seeing children of all races laid out before her. All of them were precious, so innocent as they wailed helplessly against their captors. Jo's heart seized in her chest, tears filling her eyes as her mind wandered back to the likely fate of these babies' parents. She moved her way slowly, as stealthily as a cat, farther into the room. Glancing down at every basinet, her heart breaking over and over again as she met with only tear-streaked, chubby faces. Finally, she arrived in the middle of the semi-circle. The baby laying before her was blonde, rosy-cheeked, with deep chocolate eyes. She—because the baby just looked feminine—was short and kind of chubby in a cute, cherub way. She cried like all the rest, but she seemed to have had her fill of screaming. Instead, she only whined a little and moaned, kicking out at the air like it was to blame for her problems. Jo vaguely wondered if they were hungry, or if Crowley had even thought about keeping them fed when he had set upon this plan.

But Jo's eyes focused in on the little girl before her, and she drew in a deep breath. It was crazy, she knew, but the baby… she reminded Jo of _her_ , when she had been a baby. Of course, all Jo knew of herself as an infant was all anyone ever knew—pictures. But this kid… she was the spitting image of Jo. Maybe that was the shifter in the child. Maybe she had seen Jo, and taken on the closest form to the woman standing over her that she could do as a baby. That seemed probable, the huntress was sure.

"It'll be okay," Jo cooed at her.

The baby shushed a bit, hiccuping with still a handful of tears falling. Jo looked around the room, feeling her body quake. She couldn't let Crowley get away with this.

"I won't let him hurt you," Jo stated to the children, as if that would give them any comfort.

But there was no way she could stop it. How would she ever get all of the children out of the prison? There had to be at least fifteen babies before her. Her tongue snaked out, wetting her lips as she lost herself to thought. There had to be a way. There had to be a way to save them. Then, the proverbial lightbulb went off. She turned her eyes toward the ceiling.

"Castiel, please. I need your help. These babies… Oh, please, Cas, I need you," she prayed.

And she waited. When he didn't show, her stomach churned. What if Castiel knew about this? What if… what if he was even okay with it? That thought hurt her most of all, and she wanted to double over with the pain it caused her. She turned her attention back to the babies. Her eyes fell on the one that looked so much like her. She snatched the baby up the bassinet, holding her close.

"I'll find a way to get the rest of you, I swear," she said.

She stalked from the room, noting how the baby had grasped onto the necklace. She seemed to look up at Jo, a question in her eyes. Could she feel the curse on it? Was that an ability that monster babies had? Jo paused at the doorway, looking as far as she could for anyone who might be about as she gently pried the child's hand from the heart-shaped pendant.

Jo took off down the hall, heading on a straightaway for the exit. She wanted to run, full out, but such a racket from her shoes would've certainly drawn any attention from any demons in the vicinity. She settled at a brisk walk, with the exit seeming miles away. But she arrived at it finally, bursting through it like freeing herself from invisible bonds. And, instead of turning in the direction of the manor, she went the opposite way. And as soon as the prison was out of sight, she ran. She ran as hard as she could, gripping the baby against her bosom. The shifter girl wasn't crying, and she seemed oddly calm in Jo's arms.

"Please. Please, let there be houses out here," she hoped aloud as she ran, gasping in the cold night air as she moved.

Her limbs were growing tired and heavy, the initial adrenaline wearing off. But she pushed on, repeating her wish over and over until it was coming out in little puffs of words. Soon, she wasn't even aware of the distance she had gone or how long she had been running. But she came into a suburban area. Houses, nice white ones with black roofs and well-kept lawns and gardens, lay out before her. Tears of relief flooded her eyes as she gave the baby in her arms a quick hug. She slowed herself back to that brisk walk as she crossed the darkened road, her eyes searching any of the houses that still had lights on in the windows.

She was searching for normal. She was looking for happy. She wanted to be sure that whoever she left this poor baby with, that she would stand a chance. Finally, she came to a stop. The house was one story, sort of a stucco pink in color with brown roof and trim. The garden was full of a multitude of flowers, and a couple of gnomes and flamingos. However, it was what Jo saw in the window that made her pause. There were children still awake—a boy and a girl, younger than ten, but older than five—playing with a father who was clearly winding down from a day at an office somewhere. The mother of the family was laughing at her husband and children, content to simply watch them in their play. It was picture perfect. More than what Jo could've hoped to find, and exactly what this shifter child needed.

Slowly, and hoping that this family didn't have one of those automatic porch lights, Jo wound her way up the dark pathway to the front door. Gently, she laid the baby on the doorstep, shaking her head at the cliché of it. But, what was necessary was necessary. Taking a deep breath, she hit the doorbell and ran, ducking behind a huge tree in the family's front yard. The door was opened soon after, and the father called the mother to see what he had found.

Jo listened as the two discussed the baby and what should be done. The couple seemed horrified to have this baby on their doorstep, but it gave Jo a great relief to hear them commit, aloud to each other, to making sure they did everything they could for the baby. Contacting the police, finding a good home… that was all that Jo wanted. And as soon as the adults shut the door on their house, Jo emerged and began to walk back toward the prison.

Her head was filled with dark thoughts, wondering how she was ever going to repeat that kind act for the rest of the babies. But they needed to be saved, one way or another. She ducked her head, barely mindful of her steps, as her thoughts raced. Crowley couldn't see it through on his plans. Those babies… they were just that. Babies. They deserved a life, freedom. A chance to make their own choices. And Crowley saw them as nothing more than worms for fishing. Maybe, if she kept trying, she could get Castiel to listen to her. And then he could help her get the babies to a safe place. It seemed as good as plan as any, but Jo knew that a plan B would be a good idea.

"Well, well, well," Crowley's voice sounded ahead of her, causing her to give a start and stop dead in her tracks.

His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his long coat, and he had that "I know what you did" grin in place. Jo shook her head, denying everything before anything was ever spoken aloud.

"You've been a bad, bad girl," he said, removing one of his hands and snapping his fingers.

In a blink of an eye, they were no longer outside. They were in the manor—Jo could tell by the color scheme and smell, cigars and liquor with a hint of sulfur and musk—but they weren't in her room. Or in any room of the manor she had been in yet. It was a bedroom, to be sure, but the bed was just as big as Jo's, if not bigger, and draped entirely in black. The door had built in bookshelves on either side and they were filled—like Jo's room—but this place had one decidedly obvious difference. Weapons—knives, swords, axes, whips, and anything else imaginable—lined the walls, and the desk that stood where Jo's writing desk stood had only medical tools lain upon it. She stood right in the center of the room, the foot of the bed mere feet from her. She whirled, intent on running to don't-know-where, only to come face to face with Crowley. His coat and suit jacket were removed, and Jo knew that this was a bad indication. He reached out with his right hand, gripping her throat so tightly that she was sure that an ounce more of pressure would collapse her esophagus. He forced her back, dragging her full up on the bed by his grip alone, only stopping when her head rested on the soft, fluffy pillows at the head. He straddled her, resting his hands on the bed above both of her shoulders, pinning her.

" _Tsk, tsk, tsk_. I'm _so_ disappointed in you, sweetheart. I would've thought you'd have learned your lesson by now. I mean, did you really think you would get away with that little stunt?" Crowley asked, leaning his face over hers.

"I couldn't let you do it," Jo confessed. "I couldn't let you hurt the babies. I had to do whatever it took. And I'd do it again and again, until they're all safe."

Crowley rolled his eyes, sitting back on his haunches.

"You know what you are, Harvelle? You're a hypocrite. These _babies_ are the same monsters that will come back and not hesitate to kill you when they grow up. Oh, but then you won't have one problem with killing them. I'm doing you a favor, really, by grabbing them so early. I'm saving you the trouble."

Jo struggled underneath Crowley, trying to wiggle her way out. He only grinned.

"Oh, yes. I like that move. Why don't you do it some more and see what happens?" he chuckled.

Disgusted, she wrenched her hands up, pushing against his chest. But he didn't budge, and Jo paled. She was no weakling… So how badly did Crowley want to keep her there that he didn't even move? He laughed at her, grasping both her wrists and pinning them down.

"You have to learn, Jo. Otherwise, I'll just have to send you right back where I got you from," he said.

And, as if reminding her exactly where that was, he snapped his fingers. The necklace activated, and Jo bucked against the all-consuming pain. The weight of his body on her made Jo feel dirty, sick, but she could do nothing but flail and scream as the fire burned through her being. He snapped his fingers again, and Jo gasped.

"I made such a pretty mess of you last time. I wonder what I should do with you now. What could I possibly do that would make you realize that you are under _my_ control? That my word is your _law_ ," he growled at her.

"I just… couldn't. I couldn't," Jo said, letting her head loll to the right—the better not to stare at him.

In a flash, he held a gleaming scalpel in his hand. Jo whined, shaking her head.

"Don't," she said, hating the word before it left her lips.

But the memories of his last torture session were too fresh on her mind, and played before her like some night terror come to life. She felt naked before the demon again, too vulnerable. Jo prided herself on being anything but helpless, knowing how to work any gun put into her hand and able to end a bar fight with a few well placed punches and kicks. But the weight of this necklace—of what it could do, of what it meant for her—was too great, and Jo was fighting hard not to cry. She bit her lip, hard, making herself focus on the self-inflicted pain. Crowley smiled down at her.

"Don't worry. I don't intend to cut you as much as I did last time," Crowley said, trailing the scalpel about her body, trying to find the perfect spot to begin. "You see, I've got pressing business down in Hell. So, unfortunately, I'll have to make my point with a lot less blood than I would like. Oh, but never you fear… this'll hurt just as bad."

He made quick slashes on her stomach and arms and cheeks. Jo gasped with each sting, but the pain was nothing compared to what she remembered, which made it more than bearable. She gritted her teeth, glaring up at the demon. He smiled down at her.

"Oh, don't look so smug, dear. Just because it's gotta be quick and dirty, doesn't mean it won't be as good," he said, curling his free hand into a fist.

It wasn't a pain she had felt often from him. But Jo curled in on herself, feeling like her organs were shifting—unnaturally—about inside her body, like invisible hands were gripping each one in turn and twisting and pulling at them. She arched her back, groaning as she bit down the urge to screech. Tears rolled down her face, the salt of the water stinging the cuts there, but she made no move to sob. No more satisfaction for this sick bastard. Jo was going to make sure of that. Crowley, for his part, seemed to find this terribly amusing. He released his hand, and the pain stopped. He leaned over her again, his face inches from hers.

"Why don't you pray for your angel?" he whispered.

His tongue snaked out, lapping up a trickle of blood rolling down Jo's face and mingling it with her tears. Jo gasped, turning it into a growl.

"Go ahead. Pray for Cas. Betcha, if he's smart, he won't show. He won't save you this time, Joanna. You're all mine tonight, princess."

And Jo was suddenly desperate to prove the King of Hell wrong. She prayed. Silently at first. Over and over in her mind, she called out for Cas as Crowley balled his hand again, making her insides twist and turn. While she writhed in pain, Crowley made a few other experimental slashes on her body. Jo breathed in what air she could manage as she screamed, her mind begging for Castiel to appear. Finally, unbidden, the words escaped from her lips in a scream.

"Castiel, please!" she yelled.

The torture stopped, and Crowley was nearly doubled over in laughter. When he leaned back up, he opened his arms wide.

"Nowhere to be seen," the demon said.

He brought the backside of his right hand across Jo's face, and she was sure something cracked. She spat blood onto the bed sheets as Crowley chuckled. He brought the palm of his hand back through, throwing her head in the other direction as the hit connected.

"We didn't hit a lot in Hell," he noted, almost wistfully. "Every demon there tells you there's always a better way to hurt someone other than just hitting them. But, sometimes, it's just bloody fun."

To prove his point, he landed a couple more slaps across Jo's face. Fresh tears rolled down one right after another, but she still resisted the urge to sob. Or to beg. The thought of begging Crowley to stop made her ill… and she would rather he killed her first. But, as Crowley snapped his fingers for the necklace again, Jo found her brain begging for Castiel to come. For the angel to save her as he had before. The cuts on her body stretched open as she arched her back against the fiery pain of the bauble about her neck. She screamed and screamed and prayed and prayed. And Crowley continued to cut, to activate and deactivate the necklace, and to tear at her insides for what seemed like an eternity.

And, not once, did Castiel ever show.


	10. Chapter Ten

Jo wasn't sure how she had managed it. But, after Crowley had finished with her, disappeared to deal with whatever business he had had waiting for him in Hell, she had pulled herself off of his bed, down the hall, and into her own room. And, even more surprising, she found the time to wash and tend to her wounds—the visible ones, anyway. She crawled into bed immediately after—hissing and gasping with every move she made—and fell fast to sleep.

She had no idea how long that had lasted. But, finally, she was awakened by a gentle shake to the shoulder. Considering the torture that Crowley had just put her through, that gentle move wasn't so gentle. She moaned, whining almost to the point of tears, before she pried her eyes open. Castiel, his brow furrowed, gazed down at her. Neither spoke for a moment, and then Jo finally pushed herself to an upright position.

"What is it?" Jo asked, her voice hoarse and painful after all the screaming.

"I have news of Sam," Castiel replied.

Jo's eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

The angel turned away, and Jo really wished he hadn't done so. She would have loved to try and read the expression on his face at that exact moment.

"He… is without his soul."

If Jo's eyes were wide before, then they were in danger of falling out now. She leaned forward, managing to keep all her noise of pain inside as she did.

"What does that mean? He doesn't have his soul? I mean, how did that happen?"

Castiel's head turned, as if he was looking at Jo but not.

"I am unsure. But, without a soul… he is morally different. He is not the compassionate Sam Winchester that you knew."

"But, you can get it back, right? His soul?"

Now Castiel turned, shrugging. "It's in the cage with Lucifer. I'm not sure that's such a desirable goal."

Jo pursed her lips. "Of course it is! Everyone needs a soul, Cas. Every human, at least. Now all the stuff that Samuel's said… it all makes sense now. There has to be a way to get it back."

"I'm sure Dean has made that his first priority now," the angel replied, taking a slow step toward the bed.

He hesitated, towering over her before he finally turned and sat on the edge of the bed—again putting his back to her.

"Was it… are you all right?" he asked, his rough voice almost a whisper.

Jo's breath caught, and her mouth opened before any words reached it.

"You heard me?" she whispered. Louder, in a growl that rumbled up from her chest, she repeated, "You _heard_ me?"

Castiel sighed, nodding. Jo shook her head.

"I prayed for you."

Her voice was close to breaking. The sobbing and sadness and pain she had refused to show Crowley was now about to pour out before Castiel. She took a deep breath, desperate to control it now as well. She was not weak little girl, she told herself. She was a Harvelle. And Harvelles could handle a little torture… and disappointment.

"I heard you. I know," Castiel said.

"Why didn't you come? Was it because of Sam? Was it because you were helping Dean with him?"

Because she could live with that. She could forgive that. Castiel's eyes locked with hers for just a moment before darting away.

"Y-yes. That's it," he said.

She shook her head, her heart breaking.

"You're lying. And you're really bad at it."

Castiel stood, turning fully toward her.

"I am lying. I feared for you, Jo, should I appear again. I feared what Crowley would do to you. I must be careful about my interventions between the two of you. After all, you are his—"

Whatever else was following that, Jo didn't want to hear it. Her eyes blazing, she ignored all pain and leaned forward, jabbing a finger in Castiel's face—or as close as she could get to it from where she sat.

"I'm his what, Cas? His slave? His pet? Or were you just gonna stop? I'm just his? You know what, I'm glad you didn't show too. If I'd known that's how you really feel about this, that you honestly don't care that I'm basically Crowley's plaything. Just get the hell out of here, Castiel. Now."

"Your wounds. I can heal them," Castiel said, moving toward her.

Jo pressed her back as hard as she could against the headboard. "Don't bother. Just. Leave. Now."

Castiel paused, his hand still partially outstretched. It dropped like a rock as he nodded. With only the sound of wings on the wind, the angel was gone. And Jo finally sobbed. When all the pain, emotionally, was out, she found at least one small comfort in her situation. At least she was unable to hunt in this condition. If Crowley wanted her to drag in monsters, then it would have to wait until the wounds _he_ had inflicted on her had fully healed.

Jo had no idea how long she had locked herself away in Crowley's manor. Not as long as she would've liked to, but, safely, she figured on a week or so. Her aches were finally fading, and the cuts were all scabbed over and healing. It was then that she learned of what had happened with the Alpha Vampire. And Crowley had been so kind as to come himself and tell her the tale.

He took a seat in one of the round-backed club chairs—as Jo, on a random boredom search, had discovered they were called—in the far left hand corner of the room. He propped his feet up on the low coffee table, and smiled at her like he was visiting an old friend.

"Quite a nice vacation you've been having here, dear, but it's time to get back on the horse," he said.

Jo was dressed rather comfortably, in a soft black tank and cloth black pants. She sat atop a perfectly made bed, her legs crossed as she hunched over a good book she had plucked from within the manor's library. She arched a brow at Crowley.

"You have a whole arsenal of hunters at your disposal. Miss me that much?" she asked.

"If you must know, yes. At least _you've_ not lost me an alpha," he huffed.

This piqued Jo's interest. She marked her place in the book—not caring that she had dog-eared what was probably a very expensive antique—and leaned forward.

"An alpha? What alpha? And who lost it?"

And Crowley recounted the entire story. About how Samuel and his group, along with an ulterior motive-driven Sam and Dean, cornered and captured the Alpha Vampire, bringing him to torture in a facility Samuel had. But the eldest of the vampire race was just as strong as the other alphas, and a good bit more cunning. He escaped—but not before revealing a few secrets to the Winchesters and Samuel. Like the fact that Samuel was working with Crowley. And that Christian Campbell—and Crowley noted how Jo had met him, in passing, at the prison—had been possessed for a while now. And Crowley proudly mentioned that he now had Sam and Dean's help in gathering monsters, in exchange for returning Sam's soul.

"So, now that I've lost the Alpha Vampire, it's time that you get a move on with the shifters. I mean, I just don't have the patience to deal with those whining, mutant brats much longer," Crowley concluded.

Jo narrowed her glare on the King of Hell. "Go fuck yourself, Crowley."

He laughed. "You never learn."

She knew to brace for it. She been expecting the snap of Crowley's fingers since right before her little insult had escaped. She allowed only a minimal scream to escape, and Crowley allowed the antique piece of jewelry to stop its work after only moments this time. He shook his head, as if he had been bored with her reaction. Jo pulled herself out of bed, leaning a bit on the nearest bedpost a she locked eyes with Crowley.

"It's true then? That Sam doesn't have his soul?" she asked.

Crowley nodded. "Would kill for a nickel now without hesitation. So very useful when it comes to monster hunting. Isn't that wonderful?"

She shook her head, deciding that she needed to change the subject before she said something that would get her tortured again.

"So, did you get anything about Purgatory out of the alpha before he vamoosed?"

Crowley stood, crossing the distance to get right in her face to make his next point.

"Mind your business, girl. Haven't I already told you that?"

Jo expression hardened. "It _is_ my business if I'm the one out there risking my ass to bring you these monsters."

"Yes, well, you and Samuel. And now the Winchesters. All in exchange for Sammy's soul."

Jo rested a hand on the post.

"Can you really do it? Get Sam back his soul?"

Crowley snorted. "No. I mean, being the King of Hell has all kinds of perks. Taking on Lucifer and Michael in the cage just to get their favorite chew toy? That's not one of them. But your favorite boys don't need to know that, now do they?"

"You're a bastard. You know that, right?"

Crowley looked away thoughtfully. "Might be. After all, I don't remember knowing a lot about my father. I don't think I liked him."

Jo rolled her eyes. "So, you've got Sam and Dean thinking that you have something they want when you've really got squat. You must be so proud."

"Not squat, dear. There's still you. And I've got a sneaking suspicion that your time to shine is coming. Those boys are probably, if memory serves, gonna get real tired of working for me real fast. Then, when they have their little rebellion, I'll lord you over them. And you'll finally get to do what I brought you back to do. Ah, purpose. Isn't it grand?"

Jo growled, crossing her arms about her chest. Crowley was right. It was only a matter of time before Dean and Sam told Crowley to kiss their asses. Which would qualify as them becoming a problem now that they knew some of what Crowley was up to. Which, in turn, would lead to the conditions of Jo's little accord between herself, Crowley, and Castiel being met. It was all rolling downhill and fast. Hell in a hand basket, as her mother used to say.

"Well, I doubt you came by _just_ to gloat. You have information on shifters, don't you?" she asked, desperate for a change of thought.

"I do indeed," he said, producing a folded newspaper from within his coat.

Jo held out a hand. "Well, let me get right on that."

He handed it over with a grin. "That's my girl."


	11. Chapter Eleven

Jo had lost count on what number car this was. Crowley did allow her to go, when the distance was great enough or the job required it, with a car. And, for some reason, Jo never found herself making the drive back to the manor. And she always ended up in a different car the next time it was necessary. Five, she thought finally, her arm touching the rolled up window of the driver's side. This had to be car number five. They were never really expensive, the cars, usually just economy class, used ones. After all, Crowley didn't like the idea of losing a lot of expensive things. He was a very materialistic demon, which figured, the longer Jo spent staring out of the car window thinking about it.

She was on the outskirts of some rural town in Montana, staring at an aluminum built storage house—a large one. Jo would almost dare to call it a warehouse, just for its size. She was parked just down around the corner from the building, the lack of tall foliage still giving her a clear view of the place. And, of course, it helped that the couple of lights on the outside of the warehouse were well-maintained and bright white. She watched as three men headed toward the small, red door of the warehouse, one man—slightly taller than the other two—clearly in the lead. These were the only three arrivals Jo had seen in the past while, and that's what she had banked on. She had spent the better part of the last two weeks hunting down breadcrumbs that Crowley handed her that might, just _maybe_ , lead to the Alpha Shapeshifter. She had made a slow journey over to this side of the United States, following incident after incident that had Crowley—and even Jo—sure that this had to be the wake of the oldest Shifter. And now, her eyes trained on the man in the lead, Jo knew that this was it. He was changed so that he had dark hair—black even in the light over the door—and a black goatee that completely covered his chin. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt whose long sleeves were neatly rolled to his elbows. He opened the door for the two other men, allowing them to enter first.

Jo pressed her back against the cold, faux leather of the driver's seat. She was alone on this hunt, and she desperately wondered why. She had already experienced an alpha, when she had gone after the Alpha Ghoul, Mordiggian. She knew them to be stronger, faster, fiercer than the rest of their kind. But Crowley had told her, for this run—the one in which the both agreed that they had _finally_ caught up with the alpha—to go it alone. No demons. Jo's fingers, slightly chilled, and paler than usual she thought, slipped up to the pendant that kept her chained to the service of the King of Hell. She glanced down, her brow furrowing as she took in her own body. Surely, Crowley had lost his mind.

She was dressed in the classic, "little black dress." It came just above her knees when standing—it had ridden up a little bit now, to mid thigh—and had a plunging V-neck. And the back draped low, just at the lower region where her back started to become her buttocks. Crowley had come to her hotel only hours earlier, leaving the dress with the instructions that this was what she _had_ to wear tonight. She had her hair pulled up and swept back into a very basic formal fashion, two antique gold earrings—hearts, to match her necklace—and three-inch black strappy heels. This was _not_ what she had been expecting on this hunt.

She fiddled with the pendant, moving the heart back and forth along the length of chain that fell just before her chest. Her eyes were locked to the Alpha Shifter as he watched the last of the lesser Shifters enter the warehouse. He moved to follow, but paused. His head turned, and he stuck his nose into the air. Jo's eyes widened, and she reached for the keys of the car—still hanging from the ignition, and still turned slightly on so that the radio played. Even from this distance, Jo could see the alpha smile… and his eyes sweep, just briefly, in her direction. He could _smell_ her. But, without a second glance, he entered the warehouse, shutting the door behind him. Clearly, he wasn't concerned with her.

Jo sighed, and shook her head. Of course he could smell her. She probably reeked with the stench of uncertainty, her mind replaying the events of her fight with Mordiggian. After all, if the Alpha Ghoul had tossed her around like a rag doll, what could the Alpha Shifter do? Jo sucked in a deep breath, making her hand drop from the necklace to her lap. She was suddenly aware of the song was playing on the radio. She had forgotten to pay attention. She had left the key turned just enough to let the music play—to try and relax her as she prepared for a hunt in this ridiculous dress. Now, some recent hit by a band called Florence and the Machine was playing. It had a nice beat, a drumming that matched the way her head felt at the moment. Jo leaned back against the raised headrest, closing her eyes as she tried to gather her thoughts—and try to fathom what Crowley was wanting from her, other than the clear capture of the alpha. She let the song wash over her, hearing more of the drumming than the lyrics, and feeling like her heart was beginning to match the beat as well. It was oddly relaxing, just as she had intended. But then, the music ended. And neither another song, nor a DJ, followed. Jo's eyes opened.

Crowley sat beside her now, his hand just retracting from turning off the radio. She groaned, shaking her head.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Well, you didn't think I'd let you go it alone, now did you?" he said.

When Jo's only reply was a raise of a brow, he smiled.

"True," he conceded. "However, we all know how much more powerful the alphas are than the rest of their species. So I thought I'd bring the big guns to help."

Jo crossed her arms low across her chest. "Does that mean you, or just more lackeys?"

Crowley's grin narrowed to a wicked length. "Me, of course, darling. With a few other lackeys."

Jo pursed her lips as Crowley shrugged. She sighed, resting her forehead in her hand.

"Shit. Fine. But I just want you to remember our agreement, Crowley. No matter what ridiculous requests you've made, this is _my_ hunt. Understand? I'm in charge."

Crowley smirked, chuckling. "Ooh, I usually don't go for that sort of thing, but that _does_ sound like fun. Can I call you mistress? Will you spank me if I'm bad?"

Jo rolled her eyes, grabbing the steering wheel with both hands and pressing her back into her seat as hard as possible. Finally, when it seemed that Crowley had gotten all the amusement he wanted out of that little joke, he sighed.

"So," he asked, "what _is_ your planned approach to this, sweetheart?"

"You mean, prior to you wanting me to wear this damn dress? I was going to go in there, fight, and bag the alpha."

Crowley laughed, shaking his head.

"Oh, dear, you don't stand a chance that way, dress or no. You know as well as I, and we've already covered it, the alphas are stronger. Much stronger. If you had tried that, you'd have been ripped to shreds, especially considering that you usually only have Malcolm and Nell with you. And that there are two other shifters in there to contend with."

Jo threw her hands into the air. "Then what do you propose?"

"Remember that little ruse you used to get my demons to open the gates to my manor? You know, before you died? Do something like that. You're a nice, innocent young woman who has had the misfortune to have your vehicle break down here in the middle of nowhere."

Jo narrowed her eyes at the demon. "And how's that supposed to work? I mean, it might get me in, but—"

"No, dearest, it _will_ get you in. The Alpha Shifter, like all the other alphas, has been all about breeding recently. Trying to raise their numbers. A nice, plump young thing like you? He'll welcome you inside with open arms."

"And then what? Wait for you?"

Crowley shrugged. "Yeah. That's about the gist of it."

Jo shook her head. "I don't trust you, Crowley."

He waved his hand, like batting away a gnat. "That's a given. However, you should trust in the fact that I _want_ this alpha."

Jo stared at him a moment, mulling that over. She bit the inside of her lip, lightly, as Crowley continued to grin at her in a way that had her picturing a cartoon halo over his head. She nodded, reaching for the door handle.

"All right. But you better be _right_ behind," she said.

She didn't even wait for his retort. She was out of the car, her heels clicking on the cracked pavement, as she crossed the corner and into the graveled lot of the warehouse. She paused just outside the red door, made of the same aluminum as the rest of the building, taking in the surroundings. Honestly, there was nothing. Just her car behind her—which she could no longer see the outline of Crowley in—and this warehouse containing two shapeshifters and their alpha. She put on a soft smile, one that was somewhere between congeniality and worry, and rapped a couple of times on the door. It didn't take long for an answer.

It was the alpha himself that came to the door, opening it wide enough so that Jo had to step back, leaning heavily on the inside, bolted on handle.

"Can I help you?" he asked, a smile of his own in place.

His, unlike Jo's, looked more like every drawing of the Big, Bad Wolf that the huntress had ever seen. She huffed out a small laugh, wrapping her left arm about her stomach as she jerked her free hand in the vague direction of her car.

"My car broke down, and my cell is completely dead. I'm so, so sorry to trouble you, but do you maybe have a phone I could use in there?"

The alpha turned, and Jo watched as the other two shifters—standing almost at attention a handful of feet back from their leader—shared in the wolf's grin. The alpha turned back, stepping aside with a sweeping gesture of his arm.

"Of course, Miss. No need for a young woman such as yourself waiting outside all alone in the dark. Max will show you the phone," he said, pointing to the blond shifter, who was waving Jo closer.

Jo stepped over the little rise in the door, nodding as she fully entered the building. She turned, her eyes scanning her car one last time. No sign of Crowley—or any other demon. The alpha shut the door behind him as he gently moved her farther into the building. The three shifters were closing in on her, and if she wasn't mistaken, they even looked like they were sniffing at her. Jo let out a nervous laugh.

"Well," she said, "this is just so nice of you."

The alpha's hands were on her shoulders, and they were cold. Jo shrugged out of the hold, turning so that the other shifters were now at her back. The alpha's eyes were bright blue, and they vaguely reminded Jo of Castiel's eyes. But Cas wasn't her back up here. _Crowley_ was, and he was taking his sweet, damn time showing up. Jo backed up a few steps, bumping into both of the lesser shifters behind her.

"Now, now," the alpha almost purred at her. "Just relax."

Jo's hand slipped down, and she felt leather strap she had around her right thigh, which held the silver knife that she always tried to keep on her. Especially since a hunter—or a girl, for that matter—never knows when she's going to need a knife. Two hands, each from a different monster, was on either of Jo's shoulders. She shook her head. She was gonna give this ruse one more go.

"Look," she said, trying her best to sound like a helpless, lost little girl, "I just need a phone. I-I don't want any trouble."

The alpha smiled, opening his arms wide. "See? That's just what I was thinking. We just want to, you know, entertain you why you wait. We have no intention of hurting you."

Both hands slid down her arms, like a caress. And Crowley was still nowhere to be seen. Time was up. If she didn't act now, then these shifters were going to… well, Jo didn't want to think about what they were going to do.

She flashed them a coy smile, like she was ready and willing for what they were suggesting, and she turned to the two shifters behind her.

"Well, then, boys," she said, running a hand down her inner thigh, and slowly up the underside of her dress, "let's have some fun."

The both grinned, stupidly, at her until she finally pulled the silver, serrated knife free. In a flash, she plunged it into the heart of the shifter on her right, kicking out behind her to land a heel right in the gut of the alpha as she threw a semi-effective left-handed punch into the face of the other lesser shifter. She freed the knife with one mighty yank, threw a better, stronger, right-hook into the face of the shifter on her left. It knocked him off balance just enough for her to plunge the blade directly into his heart. As she held tight to it, letting the momentum of the dying, falling shifter free it, she heard a deep chuckle behind her. She whirled.

"Well, they were a little pathetic, weren't they?" the alpha asked.

Jo held her knife at the ready, blade out to do as much damage as possible until she could get in a decent shot at the heart. If Crowley still wanted this alpha alive, then he needed to show his ass up. The two stared at each other for the longest time, a standoff. Finally, Jo lunged, and he ducked her swings, gripping her shoulders and sliding her back. Both heels broke, and Jo felt back onto the hard, cold cement floor. She slid the blade of the knife down, cutting the straps and freeing her feet before the Alpha Shifter could advance too far. She acked up several steps, and he continued to smile at her.

"Hunter, if you just drop that knife, I can make this a pleasant experience," he said.

Jo's brow furrowed, and she threw a few punches. He dodged most of them, but she landed a few right on his jaw. He threw one of his own, and she ducked it, coming up with the knife to slice him clear down his left arm. He barely even flinched. She backed up a few paces again.

"I was telling the truth, you know. You see, we monsters seemed to have caught the attention of the new King of Hell, so we have to raise our numbers—as he's joined the hunters in killing us. Pretty, strong girl like yourself? You'd make a wonderful mate."

Jo scoffed. "Yeah, sorry. Not really planning on motherhood."

"Really? Some girls your age, that's all they can think about. But no matter. As soon as the baby was born, I'd come for it. Just nine, ten months of your time."

"Go to Hell," Jo snapped.

The alpha sighed, shrugging. "Have it your way."

He growled, diving for her, and Jo whirled out of the way. He turned, lightning fast, and threw a punch. She dodged it, lifting her leg to kick him square in the chest. He barely moved. She swung her knife out, catching his other arm briefly, and again, the shifter only continued to snarl at her. She moved to punch him with her knife-hand, and he caught her by the wrist. He squeezed, and the shock of pain caused her to drop the knife. It landed at her toe with a loud, echoing clatter. She swung at the alpha with her other fist, and he shoved her away. She hit the floor with an "oomph," her hands slapping the pavement just in time to stop her face from colliding. She twisted herself to look up at the Alpha Shifter as he loomed over her. His grin widened, knowing that he had won. He took a single step forward and grunted. His blue eyes widened, and he grunted at least three more times before he fell to his knees. His eyes slid closed as his face hit the floor just beside Jo's feet. Jo pushed herself into a sitting position, looking up to see Crowley, flanked by Malcolm and Nell—the latter two both holding tranquilizer guns—standing just behind where the alpha had been. Jo sighed, leaning her head back as Malcolm and Nell moved forward to grab the alpha from under his arms. By the time Jo had righted her head, they were gone, taking him with them. Crowley stepped forward, extending a hand. Jo took it reluctantly, letting the demon pull her to her feet. She yanked her hand free as soon as she was fully erect.

"You know," Crowley said, gazing down at her shoeless feet, "those heels were rather expensive. Designer, you know."

Jo's eyes scanned the rather empty warehouse, ignoring the King of Hell for the moment. Finally, she whirled on him.

"What the hell was that about?" she yelled. "Where are the rest of the lackeys you mentioned?"

"I said 'a few' lackeys," Crowley said, finger in the air. "Never specified a number."

Jo placed her hands on her hips. "Well, in most of the world, 'a few' means at least three. You only had Malcolm and Nell with you."

"Well, I _am_ a third in that arrival team."

"Yes, and I noticed that you did _oh-so_ much."

Crowley laughed, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Oh, Joanna. I knew that if I told you what my plan _really_ was, I would've had to fight you tooth-and-nail to get you in here. But you did great. Really, you make lovely bait. Went off without a hitch. You even finished off the two other shifters like I bet Malcolm that you would. Honestly, hats off."

He performed a mock little bow while Jo seethed.

"You… mother… fucker," she spat.

He shrugged. "Why does everyone keep forgetting? Demon."

Jo wrapped her arms about herself, her jaw tight from the anger she was trying desperately to keep inside, lest she get a few minutes with the necklace. Crowley crossed the small distance between the two of them, and reached down, grabbing the hem of her dress. He tugged it down, bringing it from its crumpled state to its proper length, before Jo leapt out of reach. He raised his hands in the universal sign of backing off.

"Thought you wouldn't mind," he said, innocence dripping from every word. "After all, it looked very indecent of you."

His eyes were cruel, teasing. Jo wondered if those pair of serpent greens knew any other way to be. He chuckled softly, holding out his hand for her to take. She looked at it as if it was the most disdainful object in the world.

"Well? Come on," he said.

"Why would I ever take your hand?" she asked.

"You mean, other than just a few moments ago? To go home, of course. I mean, you've done such a splendid job tonight, that I figured you deserved that movie night."

"I'd rather just drive."

He strode forward, grasping her right hand tightly in his. "I'm sure there's plenty that you'd rather do. But, as it is, I'm the boss."

In the same, speed-of-light blink, she was back in her room in Crowley's manor, alone. She drew in a deep breath, her eyes landing on her wide, perfectly made bed. She did a little run, landing on the bed face-down. She might hate Crowley and everything that he made her do… but she couldn't deny that sleeping was a lot more enticing at the moment than an hours-long drive.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The blade sliced through the Alpha Shifter's neck, its head—which was exactly Crowley's meatsuit's head—rolling away across the floor.

"Guess I kinda lost my head," Crowley—the real, white-bloodstained-apron wearing Crowley—said.

"Are you _serious_?" Jo said, stepping farther into the room.

The King of Hell turned, one brow arched. "Joanna, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"And not only is the last alpha you had a lead on—the one you used me as _bait_ on—now dead, you just _had_ to crack that cheesy-ass pun," she ranted.

Crowley cocked his head to the side. "And, again, why are you here? I didn't send for you."

Jo shrugged, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "I know. I find that strange too, but here I am. Oh, and I'll also have you know that I don't appreciate you nonchalantly chopping off the alpha's head after I went through so much to help catch his ass. Not really a good motivator for an employee, your highness."

Crowley smiled, nodding his head in the direction of Jo's necklace. "Oh, but I know something that _is_ a good motivator."

Jo raised a hand to the pendant as Crowley took off the bloody apron, balling it up and tossing it carelessly on top of his torture tools.

"Besides," he continued, "he wasn't giving up Purgatory any time soon. Honestly, I rather doubt he knew how to access it either."

Well, if for nothing else, that bit of good news made the brisk walk from the manor to the prison worth it. If Crowley was obviously frustrated with the lack of information on Purgatory, then that was fine by Jo. The longer he went without, the longer Castiel went without—which meant more time for Jo to try and figure out what was within her power to do about it all.

Crowley put his back to her, waving her off.

"Go home, Jo. I've no need for you today," he said.

Jo managed to keep down her retort, that she wasn't some damn maid service to be dismissed when the work was done, by telling herself that she really, really didn't feel like getting the necklace today. It had been weeks since the last time Crowley had turned the pretty thing on her, and she was okay with that streak.

"Really? No hunts?" she pressed, turning for the door.

"No. No bloody hunts. Believe me, dearest, if you're _that_ bored, I'm sure I can find some use for you," he snarled.

Okay, so Crowley was upset. So Jo only nodded and made her way out of the prison, down the still sunlit streets—which was quite a change of scenery for her—and into the manor. She made it all the way inside her room before she paused. She pulled out the rolling chair, taking a seat but not pulling it back toward the desk. Instead, she pulled up her left leg, catching the heel of her foot just on the edge of the seat, and wrapping one arm around her knee. Purgatory plagued her thoughts, as it seemed to be doing to everyone these days. It almost made Jo want to laugh to think about the days when Hell and demons were her biggest worries. Now, she had to contend with the idea that the one angel they—she, her mother, Sam, Dean, Bobby—had been able to trust was now trying to crack open a place that she knew very little about. In fact, all she knew was that it held monsters' souls—which had been news to her. She had always assumed the monsters she killed to be soulless killing machines, which was a disturbing theological pondering for another time.

She pursed her lips, using her right foot to push herself back and forth in the chair, her eyes unfocused on any one object in her room. Questions about Purgatory raced through her mind. Questions like, if this place was such an untapped resource for power, then why did no one seem to know how to get to it? And exactly how many monster souls were even in there? Jo figured on a lot, like a number big enough to make her mind boggle. But, were monster souls even as powerful as human souls? And could they be used in the same way? She didn't have the answer to any of those questions… but she had a deep feeling that Crowley and Castiel did.

She sat up, putting both feet on the floor as she turned to gaze over her shoulder at her room's door. Crowley and Castiel must know more about Purgatory than what they've shared with her… and something that they knew must have led them to believing that it _could_ be opened and drained. But Jo had been up and down Crowley's library, with nothing pertaining to Purgatory to be found. But then, it clicked. She stood, an image flashing in her mind of two book shelves around a door. But not hers… the ones in Crowley's room. Yes. If Crowley was going to keep the information on Purgatory hidden from her, then he would put it in the one place she would least want to go. She grinned. Crowley was at the prison, no doubt busy torturing any other monster he still had for additional information.

She left the room, trying her best to look like she wasn't up to anything mischievous. After all, if there was something that was a sure way to get herself tortured, it would be going into Crowley's room without an invitation… like the last "invitation" she had received. Her mind flew back to the night she had rescued the shifter baby the moment her eyes saw the weapons mounted on the wall once more. A chill ran down her spine, and she had to force her feet farther into the room. She closed the door behind her with a soft _click_ , her eyes falling on the two bookshelves immediately. She stepped to the right, her fingertips dancing down the spines as she trying to best to read the markings on them. Finally, her eyes lit up. One of them clearly announced itself as a discourse on Purgatory, and she snatched it up. She made her way over to a small coffee table, not unlike the one in her room, and took a seat upon it—utterly ignoring the club chairs that surrounded it. She hunched over, cracking the book open. It was handwritten, all of it, in a very tightly scripted hand. Hard to read didn't even begin to cover it, but after staring at it for a moment, she began to make some headway.

The books began by telling Jo what she already knew. Purgatory was full of monster souls, and none had accessed it since the beginning of time. However, the further she pushed on into the book, the more it made her stomach feel a bit queasy. The author of the book—whoever they were—seemed to believe that there was more in Purgatory than just monster souls. That there were powerful, powerful beings there that had not walked the earth since… well, since the last time the place had been cracked open. Jo's eyes hurt from straining to read the words, and she closed her eyes for a moment, resting them as she digested what she had just read. Did Crowley know of these creatures? Did he have an ulterior motive to opening up Purgatory, as Jo feared he did? And did Castiel know any of this, or was he simply a pawn?

Jo sighed, her eyes fluttering open, prepared to read on. However, a hand came down on her shoulder, and she gasped, her gaze flying upward. A demon, one of the many bulky bodyguards that roamed Crowley's manor, grinned down at her, his eyes black.

"Crowley's not going to like this," he said.

He jerked her to her feet, the book falling from her hands.

"Let me go!" she demanded.

In a flash, they were no longer in Crowley's bedroom. Instead, they were back in the room that Jo had seen the King of Hell behead the Alpha Shifter in. Crowley was, as she had suspected, laying into the lamia that Jo had captured so long ago, as he turned. Annoyance, and a touch of anger, flashed across his features as he took in the new arrivals. The demon shoved Jo forward a step.

"This better be bloody important!" Crowley shouted.

"She was in your room. Reading," the demon said.

Crowley eyed the two of them. After a long moment of silence, he rolled his hand, urging the demon to explain.

"If was a book from your very private collection, sir," the demon said.

Crowley arched a brow, a smirk playing about his lips. However, as the joke seemed to ebb by, realization set in. He locked eyes with the demon, nodding once.

"Go," he said.

The demon nodded back and left in a flash. Jo glanced over her shoulder, turning back to see that Crowley had edged closer to her.

"Was that true? Were you reading about Purgatory in my bedroom, you naughty girl?"

Jo crossed her arms, nibbling on her lip for a moment as she weighed her options. Finally, she sighed, nodding.

"Yes," she whispered.

Crowley put a hand to his ear, moving ever closer. "What was that?"

"I said, yes," Jo said, raising her voice.

He laughed, and closed the distance so that only a sliver of light could come between them. He grinned down at her, hooking an index finger underneath the pendant of the necklace. He lifted it just off her chest, and Jo sucked in a breath as she felt his finger graze her skin.

"Oh, Jo, Jo, Jo. You must be getting to like this," he said, tugging a little on the necklace for emphasis. "I mean, with what you do to make me activate this, one must wonder."

Jo glared up at him, biting down the tidal wave of hateful things she desired to spout. Crowley chuckled at her.

"I mean, really, girl. Does this turn you on? Is that it? You get off on the pain? It wouldn't be the first time I've come across this in my time torturing. But I never figured you as one. Or maybe it's me. Maybe you like it when _I_ hurt you."

Jo bit down on her lip, her face twisting with the urge to tell Crowley just where to get off.

"Oh," Crowley continued, enjoying every minute of her self-imposed restraint, "I wonder what mommy dearest would think of that, of her little girl getting off when the King of Hell punishes her for being a very bad girl."

Jo couldn't take it anymore. Before she could think, before she could tell herself to stop, she threw out the hardest right hook she had ever done in her life. It connected squarely on Crowley's jaw, knocking him back a bit. He brought his hand up to rub the spot, spitting a bit of blood onto the floor.

"Bad move, duckie," he said, lifting his hand.

Jo braced for it, waiting for the snap to come, the pain that would inevitably follow. However, it never did. Just at that moment, a fluttering of wings filled the room, and Castiel appeared just behind Crowley. Crowley turned, intent on pinning the angel's arrival on Jo, when Castiel cut him off.

"I don't have much time, but we have a problem," he said.

Crowley huffed, rolling his eyes and moving away from both Castiel and Jo.

"And whatever could that be?" he said, idly rubbing at his jaw.

It pleased Jo throughout no end to know that she had left such an effect on him.

"The Winchesters. They're here, outside the prison right now. I'm meant to let them in. Meg's with them, and they're hunting for you, Crowley," Castiel explained.

Jo was sure that her heart had stopped. After all, she knew what that _actually_ felt like. Panic welled up inside her as Crowley grinned, triumphant over at her.

"Why, my fine, feathered friend, that's no problem at all. Joanna here can finally play her part. I'll just truss her up real nice, and we'll have a gay ol' time," Crowley said, moving to stand just behind the huntress.

Jo's eyes widened, and she whirled, retreating from Crowley until she bumped right into Cas. She turned again, pleading up at the angel.

"No," she said. "Cas, please. Sam and Dean _can't_ know about me. It's… it's too much."

"Ah, but it was _your_ idea, after all. If they ever became too much trouble, then I could use you as I originally intended," Crowley practically sing-songed at her. "And now it's come to pass. Sam and Dean are outside, ready to cause me a world of trouble. Time to fall in line, dear."

Jo's eyes never left Castiel's. "Please, Cas. Please, there's got to be another way. They _can't_ know. You've got to see why, more than anybody! Please!"

But Castiel was silent, and Jo grabbed onto the lapels of his overcoat. She tugged on them, pleading once more.

"Oh, my dear, honestly. You're making a spectacle of yourself," Crowley said.

Jo whirled on him, breathing like she had just run a marathon. She willed her mind to work, to find some other way. Meanwhile, Crowley was talking on and on about how he'd like to have her tied for the boys to see. Castiel was still oddly quiet, and Jo had to stop herself from wondering just how much of this he was agreeing to. Finally, however, as Crowley approached her, she held up a hand.

"Wait… wait. I have a better idea," she said.

Crowley shook his head. "Do tell."

"Fake your death."

Crowley blinked. "Come again?"

"Fake your death. Between you and Castiel, there's got to be a way to do it. Let Sam and Dean see you die, only you don't really die. It'll serve you better in the long run. If they see me here, they'll stop at nothing to save me. But, if you die, then you get left alone, because, well, you're dead."

She held her breath, her eyes darting back and forth between Crowley and Castiel as the demon and angel eyed one another. Finally, Crowley huffed.

"Well, I'll be. I do believe our darling girl is right. Can you do it, Cas? Help me fake my death?" Crowley asked.

Castiel nodded, once. "Easily."

"Fine, then. Take Jo back to the manor, then," Crowley said. As Castiel reached out to touch her, to fly her away, Crowley grinned at her, adding, "Kisses."

Jo felt Cas's hand on her shoulder, and then she was in her room. And before she could turn to face the angel, he was gone once more. She part-sighed, part-gasped to realize that she was out of the woods. Crowley wasn't going to reveal her to Sam and Dean tonight. He might still, in the future, she realized… but not tonight. Jo made her way over to her four poster, leaning on one of the posts heavily. Had she really just aided Crowley? No, she reasoned. No, that was more about aiding herself—which she was fine with. But now she had left Sam, Dean, and Meg—of all demons, _Meg_ , with Sam and Dean—in a prison filled with monsters and Crowley. And Castiel… although, the Winchesters didn't know to be worried with him.

Her mind flew, momentarily, back to the idea of Meg. Why would the Winchesters ever be working with _her_? After all, Meg was the one responsible for Jo and her mother's death. She had been the demon that had sent those hellhounds after them. But Jo shook her head. There were bigger worries at the moment—like the prison full of monsters thing. Jo was sure that Sam and Dean had a good reason—or, at least, she hoped, otherwise the world really had gone to shit while she had been dead.

Jo pushed herself off of the post, beginning to pace back and forth over and over again in the same stretch of about three or so feet. She wrung her hands together in front of her, finally freeing one of them to rise up and fiddle with the damned necklace that was, truly, at the root of all of her problems. She lifted it up, sliding it back and forth along the chain, listening to the grating noise that it made. Then she dropped it, feeling the weighty pendant collide with her chest, only to repeat the actions again. And all the while, she paced, her mind racing. What was going on? Were Sam and Dean all right? And what was Crowley doing? After all, he couldn't go down without a fight. That would be too suspicious.

She didn't know how long she had been pacing there. The heavy curtains on her windows really didn't help with knowing the time of day, and she couldn't seem to tear herself away from her nervous pacing to go look. But her legs were kind of achy, as well as her feet, and her fingers seemed to be getting a little sensitive from rubbing the raised design over the ruby heart of the necklace.

Suddenly, a roaring noise filled the room. Jo stopped dead in her tracks, whirling to face the center space where a pillar of fire seemed to be forming. After a moment, she could make out a skeletal form that seemed to be burning in reverse. More of the skeleton was becoming visible, until it was finally covered with muscle, skin, a suit, and the flamed faded away. Crowley coughed once, dusting off his clothes.

"Well, that was fun," he muttered.

"How did it go? How are Sam and Dean?" Jo asked.

Crowley shook his head. "You just see me materialize in your room in a pillar of bloody fire, and you want to know how the Hardy Boys are doing? I feel loved."

Jo chose not to reply to that, simply continuing to glare down the demon. Finally, he smiled at her.

"Yes, yes, the Winchesters are fine. And your plan went off without a hitch. I am now, effectively, dead. Which means I'm free to conduct my business as I see fit."

Jo smiled as a relieved sigh seeped out. Crowley arched a brow at her.

"I'm surprised to see you so happy, you know."

Now it was Jo that looked confused. "And why's that?"

Crowley shrugged. "Well, you were just so quick to think of such a wonderful idea. A wonderful idea that, might I add, frees up some of my time. And you _must_ know what that means."

Jo's brow furrowed, her stomach knotting as the worst feeling of dread began to descend over her. Crowley nodded.

"That's right, m'dear. More quality time for me and you!"

Jo's heart sank. She had no idea what exactly Crowley meant by that, but she knew that it was nothing good.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Trolls. Jo just couldn't wrap her head around it. She was after trolls. Or troll, singular, if she was being honest. A few months ago, if someone had approached her, telling her that trolls—along fairies and the like—were real, she would have laughed it off and asked if they believed in Big Foot too. But Jo was caught up, fairly so, in the recent events that transpired outside the walls of Crowley's manor—and in the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester. She had heard of Dean's little encounter with the realm of the fey. And she had heard all of the details on what had transpired inside the prison, about how Samuel had committed a grave betrayal… leaving his grandsons in the hands of whatever the hell Crowley wanted to throw at them. Crowley had actually told Jo to take Samuel with her on this troll hunt, and Jo had—in just so many words—told him to shove it up his ass. She'd stick with Malcolm and Nell. Crowley hadn't even bothered to use the necklace on her for that one. He had just smiled.

So now, Jo, Malcolm, and Nell were in Colorado—in the mountain caves just to the north of a town called Loveland, to be specific—hunting a troll that had been causing trouble. Jo might now believe that trolls exist, but that still had not stopped her from giving a little scoff when Crowley had given her the assignment. _That_ had earned her a spell with the necklace, burning away at her bones as it always did when activated, and Jo had a feeling why Crowley had been so pissed at her scoff. He was grasping at straws. They had no more leads on alphas—either they'd caught all the ones still alive or the ones they had missed were deep, deep in hiding. Crowley was losing things he could torture about information about Purgatory, which tickled Jo pink. But then the King of Hell had remembered his little birdies, as he called them, telling him of Dean's encounter with the fey—creatures notorious for flitting in and out of dimensions. And then came the troll, which was currently terrorizing the citizens of Loveland by doing such things as stealing, causing property damage, and kidnapping. Of course, most of those things could have been waved away as just normal humans, but the kidnapping… it was always young children. They would go missing for days, sometimes a little over a week, and then they would be found wandering out of the forest, each with their own fantastic tale to tell. All of them told of an ugly, short creature, barely taller than themselves—and most of these children ranged from ages seven to eleven—who talked and grumbled at them a lot, and made them do a lot of manual labor. When they had completed their task, they were sent home.

Jo almost didn't want to bother the creature. Yes, she was caused a feeling of deep ick at the idea of a creature snatching children to basically use as slaves, but otherwise… this troll was no worse than a somewhat bad human. But Crowley had appealed to Jo's dormant maternal instinct, saying that she would save so many children a lot of horrible nightmares if she brought to troll to him.

Sighing as she now trekked up the rocky, narrow foot path that led straight to the mouth of the cave, Jo glanced over her shoulder at her two demon companions. Malcolm seemed to be preoccupied, sniffing the air as if he could already smell the creature, but Nell caught Jo's glance.

"What's your problem?" the fiery-haired demon snapped.

Jo huffed. "Nothing. Just seeing if you two were keeping up."

All three toted weapons. Jo had a standard sawed off shotgun, while Malcolm and Nell both had machetes. They had no idea what to expect from this monster, having had very little time to do research. The moment Crowley had heard that trolls were nomadic, he had sent them packing. Jo tightened her grip on her gun as she came to a stop just outside the mouth of the dark cave.

"This is a bad idea," she grumbled.

Malcolm came to a stop on her left, Nell on her right. Both demons looked over at the huntress.

"Crowley wants the troll alive. So no getting kill happy on us," Nell said, her voice stern.

Jo shook her head. "Yeah, yeah. I'll keep your boyfriend happy."

The seemed to fluster her just enough to be funny, and Malcolm grinned in appreciation. Jo bit down her own smile as her eyes caught something in the distance, from way inside the cave. She blinked, making sure it wasn't her own eyes gone tired on her, but when it was still there, she nodded toward it.

"Does that look like light to you?" she whispered.

Nell brought her weapon close to her body. "Let's go."

She took off before Jo could argue, leaving Malcolm and her to follow in Nell's wake. Jo shook her head, grumbling as they charged, headlong and just plain stupid, into the cave. Nell pulled ahead of the other two, but she was easy to follow as the light got brighter the farther inside the cave they got. Finally, all three skidded to a stop as a most ungodly stench hit their noses.

"Argh," Nell said, pressing the back of her hand—covered by the sheer black sleeve of the blouse she wore that evening—to her nose. "What _is_ that?"

Jo wanted to vomit. It was like all of the most horrible things she could remember ever smelling in her life—dead bodies, sewer, bile, and more—all wrapped into one glorious ball of foul. She coughed, smelling it so strongly that it seemed to invade her taste buds. Her eyes watered as she looked over at Malcolm, who kept shaking his head like he could lose the smell if he tried hard enough.

"Well, you don't see me coming into _your_ homes and insulting _you_ , now do you?" a gruff, yet strangled, voice said from the other side of the light's source—a large torch, burning away on the right side of the cave wall.

The owner of the voice stepped into the light, and Jo's eyes widened. It was short… about the size of a ten-year-old, and ugly. It looked vaguely humanoid, but as if nature itself had tried to claim it back. Its hair fell to its hunched shoulders, green mixed with brown, and moss and rocks covered its body… or were the rocks actually calluses? Its nose was large and bulbous, hanging so low that it almost obscured the oddly tiny mouth below it. It moved in a shuffling motion, like it couldn't lift its feet, and the closer it got, the stronger the smell got.

"Oh God," Jo moaned, backing away.

"Oh, yes, very nice. Very nice indeed," the troll commented.

Nell cried out, a fierce call to battle, and dove for it. However, it lifted a single, three-fingered hand and flung the demon back. She flew over Jo and Malcolm as they ducked.

"I suppose I should have expected this, demons after me. After all, look at the times? Such times we live in," it groaned, turning away.

"My turn," Malcolm muttered as he dove for the troll.

But he was flung back just as Nell had been. So far, the count was Troll: 2, Hunters: 0. Jo rolled her eyes. She readied her weapon, but instead of charged, she just shuffled a step forward. The troll turned and lifted a heavy brow, a large brown eye—about the size of Jo's fist, she would figure—revealed underneath it.

"Yes, yes. I figured demons would come. Been looking for monsters, I heard. Demons looking for monsters, so odd. But times are odd now, just as they are the same," the troll commented, putting its back to Jo once more.

It was sort of like playing Red Light, Green Light. If the troll looked, she stopped—red light. But as soon as its back was turned, she shuffled forward as quickly and as soundlessly as possible—green light. Meanwhile, its back still turned as Jo kept moving, the troll continued to mumbled and grumble.

"Times are changing, though… but is it change if it's been done before? Dragons are stirring for the first time in ages, going about their work. Looking for the right one, just as always. Looking for the purest, the chosen."

Suddenly, the troll whirled, faster than it had moved yet, and locked its eyes on Jo—who came to a stop faster than she had ever had in her life. It lifted one gnarled finger at her.

"The balance has shifted!" it warned. "She's coming home. Coming home to do as a mother should."

It turned back, repeating "as a mother should" over and over. Jo was close now, coming up right behind the creature. She held her breath—the stench enough to make her woozy—as she came to stand right over its head. Raising her sawed off up, she brought the butt of the gun down as hard as possible on the back of the troll's head. It grunted and went down, twitching only once or twice before going still. Jo wanted to sigh, but the smell was too much. She turned, seeing that Malcolm and Nell had rejoined her. They played a quick game of Rock, Paper, Scissors—which Nell lost, much to Jo's delight—and took their places. Nell bound the troll, groaning as she grabbed it and vanished. Jo laughed as Malcolm reached for her. The moment after his hand touched her shoulder, they were all back in the prison, standing in front of a cell that Crowley was watching Nell close, the troll still unconscious inside.

"Well done, gang," Crowley said, applauding.

Nell was practically beaming, which was odd to see on a demon. Crowley nodded, and both Malcolm and Nell vanished, leaving him alone with Jo.

"You have a troll. Have fun with that," the huntress said, waving at the lump through the bars. "You might actually get something out of him… maybe not about Purgatory. He—it—seemed rather talkative."

Crowley turned to her, intrigued. "Oh? And what did the Chatty Cathy say?"

Jo shrugged. "Nothing much. Just something about dragons doing their work."

Crowley laughed. "Dragons? Really?"

"Yeah, and something else. It said… it said that 'she' was coming, to do… as a mother should?"

The light in Crowley's eyes was unmistakable. Pure, evil glee. It made Jo's skin crawl, and her curiosity pique. Crowley rubbed his hands together as if they were cold, his eyes trailing on the still slumbering troll.

"I might get my answers after all," he noted.

"What did it mean? You know who 'she' is?" Jo asked.

Crowley arched a brow. "I know I've told you to mind your business before, girl."

"Yeah, and I think I countered by telling you that since it's _my_ ass on the line, it's _my_ business."

"My, my, what a mouthy child I have," he said.

Jo could feel her face contort to express the disgust she felt. She stepped closer to the King of Hell.

"I am most certainly _not_ your child… in any sense," she growled.

"Oh, now you're just trying to make Daddy mad," he responded.

That urge to vomit was rising in her again, and Jo knew it had nothing to do with the smell coming from the cell in front of her. She shook her head.

"What's so important about this 'she'? Who is it that that troll meant? If you know, why not tell me? I'll probably have to go after her, won't I?"

But Crowley wasn't done screwing with her. He had hit a raw nerve, and he was going to toy with it as long as possible.

"Oh, I understand. It's annoying when Daddy takes the toys away. But never you fear, Jo, you'll get to play."

"You're disgusting," Jo snapped.

"Sticks and stones, love. Besides, did Dean never try the whole 'daddy' bit with you? He really seems like the type."

Jo's face flushed red, and Crowley was just the picture of smug. He chuckled.

"Oh, did I hit on a regret? One of those, 'I wish I had' moments from before my pup tore you a new one? The diary entry writes itself, really. 'Dear Diary, I really wish that I had let Dean Winchester fuck me like the little whore I am.'"

It was bait. Crowley was fishing for her to lose her temper. Any excuse to use that damn necklace on her. And, to her everlasting shame, it worked. She pulled her arm back, ready to slam her fist into the demon's face, when he flicked his hand. She flew back against the opposite—now empty—cell, hard. She groaned, some invisible force holding her on her feet as Crowley got so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face.

"If you must know, 'she' might be the very key to Purgatory that I've been waiting for," he whispered at her.

Jo struggled, trying to slip out from underneath Crowley. But he had her in place, knowing that she was at his mercy. He smiled at her.

"Didn't you ever learn not to argue with the boss?" he said.

His hand rose up, and he let it trail down to her neck, coming to a stop on the heart pendant of the necklace. He sighed, shaking his head as he drew his hand away. He snapped his fingers once, and Jo felt the pain consume her again. She had lost count how many times Crowley had done this to her now. It really was getting old, the same pain coursing through her along the same path. In fact, it was getting almost manageable. Almost. Crowley grimaced, snapping his fingers again. The pain stopped, as did what was holding her in place, and Jo slid down to the floor.

Sooner or later, Crowley was going to forgo the necklace altogether. Of course, he'd still make her wear it as it was the surest way to ensure her compliance—nobody _wants_ to go to Hell—but it wouldn't be his go-to torture for much longer. Jo could almost see the proverbial sand running out of the hourglass. And if Crowley was right, if this "she" that the troll had mentioned was the key he was looking for… then she had to find out more. She had to find out how to stop it all.

She groaned and Crowley stepped back. She pushed herself up to her feet, using the wall, and turned toward the exit. Without a word, she started off, but Crowley called her to a stop.

"I'll take you to the manor," he said, matter-of-factly.

She turned. "Why?"

He jerked a thumb in the direction of the troll.

"I'm going to let this thing stew in its very ripe juices for a while. Meanwhile, I've run out of any new monsters to poke and prod. So, I'm bored."

He laid a hand on her shoulder, and in a flash, they were in the manor. But, of course, they were not in Jo's room—they were in Crowley's. Jo's eyes darted from wall-mounted weapon to the tray of medical equipment on the desk. One of the club chairs that were so similar to the ones in her own room had been pulled out to the center of the empty space between the foot of the bed and the door—which was shut. Crowley gestured at her.

"Sit," he ordered.

"What are you doing?" she asked, not moving.

He rolled his eyes. "Sit, or I will make you sit, Joanna."

Jo's hand went to the necklace, fiddling with it as she did as she was told. She kept that one hand on the pendant, while the other lay limply in her lap. Crowley was busy removing his overcoat and suit jacket, tossing them to the bed. He undid the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them neatly and evenly up to his elbows. Jo's breath quickened, becoming slightly erratic as her eyes trailed after his every move. He turned to face her now, his yellow-green eyes gleaming down at her.

"As I said, I'm bored. So, I'm going to use what precious little downtime I receive—i.e. now—to test out a little theory," he said, picking up a scalpel—no doubt the same one he had used last time.

He turned, brandishing the blade so that it caught the little light there was in the room. Jo pressed her back against the chair, her hand dropping from the necklace to grip the arm.

"What theory?" she asked breathlessly.

"That Castiel won't save you. Not anymore. No matter what," he said, chuckling.

Jo shook her head, making to stand. However, Crowley held up a hand, and Jo knew she would be in for a lot worse if she tried to move. So, she sank down into her chair, her eyes glaring at the King of Hell.

"You've already proved that theory. The last time you tortured me with more than just this damned thing," she said, pointing to the necklace.

"Not extensively," he said, pulling the blade down and resting it against her cheek. "Hell, last time I gave you a good punishment for being so rebellious, I was so pressed for time I barely had the peace of mind to enjoy it. So, this time, I plan to go _far_. To torture you in new, exciting ways and wait and see if your dearest feathered friend shows up to save you. But, what to do?"

He pulled the scalpel back, and Jo released the breath she had been holding for minutes now. He crossed one arm about his chest, resting the elbow of the blade-wielding hand on that arm. He tapped the tip to his lips, eying her like Da Vinci about to paint the _Mona Lisa_. His eyes roved over her body, making no show of trying to hide the fact that it paused on some of her more intimate areas. Grinning, he circled around the back of the chair, pulling the scalpel down to rest against her lips. He used his free hand, clasping it about her throat and pulling her head back. Leaning over her, he brushed his lips against her ear.

"You see, I'm trying to think of something _special_ to do for you, princess, since you're such a special case. I've tortured a lot of people in Hell, and on Earth, but I've never had someone in the predicament that you're in. Even in Hell, there's some hope for rescue. Sure, it usually comes in the form of taking up the blade and torturing for yourself, but still… that means no more torture for you. But you… thanks to this," –he tapped the chain of her necklace with a finger— "you have no hope, whatsoever. You can't fight me. You're all mine, wrapped up like a nice little present."

She gulped, and she knew that he felt it on his hand. She could feel his lips stretch into a smile.

"Oh, yes, you had Castiel," Crowley said. "For a time. But now? I'm willing to wager that you're all on your lonesome with me. And I intend to make the best of it. Something truly terrible for you."

His teeth caught the side of her ear, biting hard for just a moment—long enough to elicit a hiss—before he released his grip and moved to stand in front of her once more. He surveyed her again, the look on his face like a child who had found mommy's stash of Christmas presents.

"You know the memory I look back most fondly on, when it comes to you?" he asked.

Jo looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "When your hellhound dragged me home?"

He laughed. "Oh, well, yes, but I was speaking more recently. No, the memory I think of most fondly was when I tortured you after losing Bobby Singer's soul. You remember? You had just had a shower, I think, and when I pinned you to the wall, you lost your grip on the towel."

Jo felt the heat rise to her face, and she bit her lip, hoping that it wasn't as clearly visible as she feared it was. But Crowley's smile dashed that hope.

"Yes, _that's_ the one," he chuckled. "Let's start there. Take off your clothes."

Jo's heart stopped. She blinked, shaking her head.

"What?"

"I said, take off your clothes. Don't want to damage them, do you? Take them off," Crowley explained.

"And if I say no?"

Crowley shrugged. "Then I'll cut them off. But I'm afraid that I'm not as precise with my moves that way. Might, accidentally, cut something important."

Jo breathed in, deeply. She could see that his eyes were eyeing all the areas on her body where a major artery could be cut—her neck, her thighs, her wrists, her ankles. She didn't have a choice. But, then again, she knew that. So she stood, and removed the plaid, long-sleeved over-shirt she wore over the lavender spaghetti strap that evening. She was moving fast, hoping that it worked like the Band-Aid principle—the faster, the easier. But as soon as she gripped the hem of the blouse, Crowley rested a hand on one of hers.

"Slower. No need to rush, darling."

Jo laughed mirthlessly. "Is this torture or a striptease?"

Crowley's grin was serpentine. "Why can't it be both?"

Jo's stomach clenched in dread, and she lifted—as slowly as possible—the spaghetti strap up and over her head. She slid off her boots next, followed by her form-fitting, white-washed jeans. Her socks followed, as she tossed all the garments she had removed somewhere off to her left. She stopped there, standing only in the strapless, beige bra and purple lacy underwear. Crowley eyed her, and it made her skin crawl.

"All of it," he ordered.

Jo paled. Her mouth opened, her lips quivering as she tried to force out the protests that lay within her. But she could still feel the weight of the necklace on her chest, and all the terrible things that meant swam in her head. Trembling, she lifted her hands and unclasped her bra, tossing it. Bending as she moved, she slid her underwear off, her face nearly level with Crowley's crotch before she shot back upright, tossing her panties with the rest of her cloths. She wrapped her arms around her exposed flesh, her face turned away so that she didn't have to look at that lecher's grin.

"Good," Crowley said, stepping forward.

He wrapped his free arm about her waist, pulling her up against him. The silk of his suit was cold on her flesh, and she desperately tried to think about anything but what her most obvious physical reaction to that would be. Crowley lifted the scalpel and, blade down, traced a line across her jaw. She hissed as the blade bit into her flesh and her warm blood began to trickle down.

"I don't want to cut up your pretty face, to be honest," Crowley said, staring down at the body in his arms. "So it's becoming truly difficult to think of new ways to hurt you."

He pulled the blade away and tapped it on her shoulder, thinking. He held her so tightly to himself that her hands had nowhere to go but his shoulders and not even a sliver of light could pass between them. She was still determined not to look him in the eye.

"Ah, I have an idea," he said.

He put the handle of the blade in his teeth, freeing that hand. He grinned and snapped his fingers, the necklace going to work instantly. She bucked and writhed against the pain, pushing against his body as she desperately tried to free herself. But he held her tight, taking the scalpel from his teeth and cutting a "C" shape onto her chest, just above her cleavage. She screamed as the two types of pain met and mingled within her, and Crowley laughed.

"If it makes you feel any better, you can imagine that means 'Castiel' when you get that special tingle at night."

She screamed as he lowered the blade again and again, cutting her in various spots down her body. He had yet to deactivate the necklace, and she was sure this was the longest she had ever had to endure it. He made a thin slice down the side of her throat, trailing onto her chest. Leaning forward, and holding her like she weighed nothing despite her struggles, he pressed his lips to the cut, and Jo could feel him sucking at her—even over it all. She wanted to vomit, and she felt like this could be possible, due to the way her stomach was feeling.

Crowley dropped the scalpel, deliberately, into the chair behind Jo, and snapped his fingers. The pain for the necklace stopped, but the pain from her numerous cuts remained. Crowley held Jo up on her feet, pressing her against him, and now the feel of the fabric sticking to her wounds was an insult to injury.

"Do you want to know why I'm really torturing you, Joanna?" he whispered.

"Because," she gasped, "because you're a sick, sadistic bastard who gets his rocks off torturing young women?"

"Yes, true," Crowley conceded. "But also, it has to do with you. And what you've done."

Jo shook her head, feeling it more loll about than actually shake. "No. No, I've done nothing but help you recently. I came up with the-the idea to fake your death. I brought you the troll. Brought you alphas. I've done everything you've asked."

"Yes, but that wasn't for _me_. It was all for you. Every little act was nothing but self-serving. Everything you've done has been in _your_ best interest, and I hate that. I hate that you think," –he jerked her roughly— "even for a second, that you've got a handle on things here. I'm in control. _I_ am your master. And nothing, not an angel, not the friggin' Winchesters, _nothing_ is going to change that! So, Joanna, call for your angel. Beg him to save you. He won't come. And you know it as well as I that even _that_ is in your best interest."

Crowley snapped his fingers again, throwing her to the floor as the necklace started up again. Through her haze of pain she saw him reach for the scalpel. Her night was far from over.

But, laying there as Crowley crouched over her, she was resolved. Yes, he was right. Castiel wouldn't come to her.

But she wasn't going to ask him to.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

At the end of her torture session the night before, she had moved in and out of consciousness. But, she had been aware of Crowley lifting her from the floor and carrying her to her room. It made her feel sick to think of how tenderly he had pulled back the covers and laid her between them. He had even tucked her in and kissed her forehead. She had fallen asleep—or lost consciousness, she wasn't sure which—shortly after that.

Now, as she awoke, only a trickle of golden sunlight through the heavy drapes letting her know that, indeed, it was morning, she was suddenly made aware that she was still very much unclothed. She managed to work her legs out from underneath the covers, hissing and wincing at the long slashes up and down them. Crowley had stopped the bleeding and disinfected the wounds—such a thoughtful torturer, Jo thought wryly—before putting her to bed, that much came rushing back to her. Moving as quickly as possible, which wasn't really all that fast, she crossed the small expanse of floor from the bed to the bathroom. She caught the door, feeling her limbs go weak underneath her, and managed to keep herself off the floor. Her entire body ached and stung, and the damned necklace was ice cold against her bare flesh. She hesitated to look down at herself, to see the damage Crowley had sadistically placed upon her, but she couldn't help it. Her eyes drifted down her torso, looking past the swell of her breast, and what she saw there was almost enough to make her cry. Cuts, long and ugly, trailed from just above her breasts all the way down to the tops of her feet. She remembered, maybe, only half of them being made. The rest was lost to a haze of pain caused by the heart necklace and the blackness of losing consciousness.

Jo forced herself to look away, to steady herself. Her eyes trailed to the glass-enclosed shower, knowing that she needed one. But the thought of hot water touching the cuts made her wince even more, so she looked instead to the rest of the bathroom. Laying on top of the closed toilet, neatly folded, was her black tank and loose black sweats. A pair of black lacy underwear lay on top, but no bra was in sight. She wanted to retch. Not only had Crowley tortured her, and then treated her with such mock-tenderness, he had had the audacity to go through her clothing and leave them for her so neatly folded that it almost like he was leaving her a present. She had half a mind to go find something else to wear, but as she tried to whirl out of the bathroom, her cuts stretched with her skin, and she gave a little cry of pain. Shaking with hate and anger, she made her way over to the toilet and dressed herself as quickly as possible.

At least Crowley would have to wait for her to heal before he could send her on anymore hunts. And he couldn't argue that it was her fault. Well, he could, but really, he couldn't. That made Jo smile, if not a bit ruefully, as she dragged herself back into bed. She didn't crawl back under the covers, content to only sit up with her back pressed against the feather-soft pillows. She stared into the relative peace of her room, her eyes hyper-focused on the closed door across the way from her. She tried to relax her mind, to fill it with nothing more than a pleasant buzz in hopes that her body would follow after. However, the moment she managed to quiet it, a grim thought passed through.

How much more could she take?

Tears welled in Jo's eyes, but she denied them the right to fall. She was a Harvelle, and by God, she was her Momma and Daddy's daughter. She could take as much as Crowley could through at her… or, at least, that's what she told herself. In truth, she knew that she was on a clock. The same clock she'd been on since Crowley had brought her back. Her information on Purgatory had grown since then, but still not enough. She didn't have that thing, that one thing that would be necessary to convince Castiel that opening Purgatory was wrong. That Crowley was blinded by the greed only a demon—and the self-proclaimed King of Hell—could feel. If she wanted to get ahead, ahead in the way that would truly make her safe, then she had to face facts. As much as she loathed the idea, perhaps Crowley and Castiel were right. Maybe torturing monsters about the nitty-gritty of where they went after they died was what had to be done. But, she would have to do it her way, on her own time. Which was a problem in and of itself. When was Jo ever alone? How could she possibly achieve this without Malcolm, Nell, or Crowley finding out? Maybe there was another way… some other way to get the answers she needed. Once upon a time, she might have thought to ask Castiel… but now that seemed as unlikely as her having her own time.

Almost that instant, a flutter of wings filled the room, and Castiel was suddenly standing at the foot of her bed. She crossed her arms, not making another move or any motion to speak, deciding that it was best that the angel tell her why he was there. As it turned out, that was exactly as he had intended.

"Sam Winchester's soul has been restored," he announced.

Jo's arms fell limply beside her, hanging there for a moment. Finally, she pushed herself up, managing not to hiss at the pain this time—the less Castiel knew, the better for both of them—and moved to stand just before him.

"What? How?" she asked.

"Dean made a wager with Death, to my understanding. Death also put in a wall, to block Sam's memories of his time in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. Honestly, it is the only thing, I believe, that keeps him from deteriorating," he explained.

Jo pursed her lips, leaning back to rest her weight on one of the posts of the bed.

"Is that enough?" she asked.

Castiel cocked his head to the right. "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I asked, Cas. Is that enough to keep Sam from losing his marbles?"

Castiel seemed to drink that question in and mull it about before he finally nodded.

"Death seemed certain that, so long as Sam didn't scratch at it, that it would hold. Next to God, Death is a very powerful figure. There is even much debate as who came first. I wouldn't know, I was born much later, but—"

Jo rolled her hand, urging the angel to make his point. Castiel stopped, clearing his throat once before nodding again.

"Yes. I believe Death is correct."

Jo sighed, locking her brown eyes with Cas's blues. She nodded. She could tell that he realized that she wasn't fully convinced, that she wasn't sure how a wall of any sort could hold back memories as powerful as the ones Lucifer had made by torturing Sam's soul. But, when it came to such powerful figures, who else would know better than an angel? Even one making as many mistakes as Castiel.

She glanced away with that thought, looking back in time to see that the look in his eyes had changed. The light behind them had dimmed as he examined her body in full.

"I know—I know that Crowley tortured you again. Severely. And I'm also aware that you did not pray for me. Not even once."

He seemed hurt, like a kicked puppy. And that made Jo's skin crawl. What right did he have to be _hurt_ when she was the one getting the shit cut out of her? Her tongue snaked out, wetting her lips, as she shrugged.

"Would it have mattered? Would you have shown?"

Castiel made a halfway I-don't-know gesture with his arms. Jo shook her head. He wasn't even going to try to deny it. He wouldn't have shown. Jo could feel a heat rising up in her, coloring her cheeks—one that the necklace was not responsible for.

"It is for your best interests that I don't intervene."

Jo bit the inside of her cheek, another pain just to compile upon the rest. Her left hand shot out, grasping the foot of the bed for balance as well as releasing as much frustration as balling up the comforter there could.

"You're some piece of work, you know that, Cas?" she snapped.

When Castiel didn't answer, his gaze averting from her, she felt the flames of anger roar fully to life within her. Forgetting her pain, she stood a single step forward, shoving a finger in the angel's face.

"Do you remember what you said to me, Cas? When this all started? You said that if Crowley ever did too much, that I was to call on you."

"But you didn't call," he muttered.

Jo's glare intensified, and she figured it had grown a bit wild.

"Of course I didn't! Crowley's gone way beyond 'too much' now! And the reason I haven't prayed to you for help? Honestly, because I think Crowley could push me to the edge of life, about to careen into death, and I bet you _wouldn't show_!"

She rounded the corner of the bed, heading straight for the pillows. She grabbed up one, whirling and lobbing it directly at the angel. He blocked it easily, and that only earned a growl from the huntress. She threw the one that had been lying underneath at Cas too, only to have it blocked.

"You haven't helped! Not at _all_! The moment Crowley gets pissed at _anything_ , at you, at me, at this whole Purgatory bullshit, guess who he takes it out on? His favorite punching bag, _me_!"

She stretched across the wide bed, feeling the strain on her cuts, but she bit the sounds of pain down. Instead, she grabbed both pillows there and throwing them one after another. Castiel seemed to have caught on to the reason for the thrown bags of fluff, as he finally let the fourth one hit him square in the face. His nose crinkled in slight annoyance, and that did help ease Jo's rage. But not nearly enough. Growling, she smacked the mattress beneath her hands, whirling back toward the angel. She balled the sheets in her fist, glaring down at the whiteness that was now stained brown with her dried blood.

"I'm trapped, Castiel. In prison for a crime I didn't even know existed—the crime of dying for a damn cause, and I just think that you really don't give a damn about how that makes me feel. What that does to me."

She wouldn't look at him, but she could almost sense that he was doing her the same, his eyes locked on the floor instead of her hunched back.

"The results of the war in Heaven will affect us all. It is crucial that I remain alert, so that I may win," he mumbled, but Jo rolled her eyes.

She whipped her head around, her own hair slapping her in the face and neck.

"Oh, stuff it, Castiel," she groaned.

She pushed herself off the bed, walking over to stand so close to the angel that he had no choice but her meet her eyes.

"I'm scared, Cas," she whispered. "Far more than I've ever been in my life."

She reached out, not even sure what she was going to do. Her hand hovered just at Castiel's face, but she pulled it away, instead pointing to her necklace. He had made no move to speak, so, by God, she was going to say her piece while she could.

"I remember the conditions of this thing," she said. "If I die with this thing on, either by hunt or by Crowley, then I get dragged to Hell. And you wanna know my guess? I guess that Crowley intends this to happen. That he means for me to go to Hell because that'll be one more soul in the pit" –her eyes lit up, just a tad, as if she had just realized a truth that had been out of reach— "because that's it, isn't it? For you and for Crowley. It's all about souls. More souls, more power, right? They… they have far more to them than what the average person knows… don't they?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. That's true."

Jo sighed, putting her back to him. Now, her own gaze leveled on the floor, she laughed mirthlessly.

"You know what I wish, after all of this? I honestly wish there was a way to make sure that neither you nor Crowley got the power my soul holds, just for being the bastards that you are."

A long silence followed. The words she had spoken had been harsh, and in a way, they had been true. But, mostly, they had been cathartic. A small weight had been lifted off Jo's shoulders, and she took a single, calming breath. She turned back, looking up at Castiel from underneath her lashes.

"Please… tell me about Purgatory. Tell me why it's so important to you… how you plan to use it."

Castiel closed his eyes, sighing. Finally, he nodded.

"Crowley and I intend to split the souls fifty-fifty. Purgatory can be opened, but the ritual has long since been lost. After that, the souls will be directly absorbed into our bodies. Each soul is the equivalent of… I suppose that a single, nuclear reactor would be the closest description."

"And Purgatory holds monster souls?" Jo asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, Cas… how do you even know you can handle all of that? How do you know that you won't, I don't know, explode or something? Or go crazy with power?"

"I can handle it."

"No, you _think_ you can handle it."

"I _can_ handle it, Joanna."

She shook her head. "Cas… you've gotta take this necklace off me."

At that, he turned away, putting the distance of a few steps between them.

"I can't. You'd go directly to Sam and Dean."

Jo huffed. "You're damned right I will."

He whirled back on her, stalking closer. "You know that you can't. That I can't let you."

Her brow arched. "You can't _let_ me? Since when were you in the business of giving me permission to do as I please or not?"

"From the moment Crowley brought you back to life without my knowledge!"

Jo was shaking, the anger flaring inside her once more. She closed the distance between them, getting right in the angel's face.

"So, that's it, isn't it? I was unexpected, so you decided to do what it is that you recently seem to think is best—lord over me. You know that it's either you or Crowley in charge of me, so you've decided to step in, try to make me stop stopping you. This is stupid, Castiel! I can't believe that the angel that Dean has put so much faith in could do this to him, to the world!"

"Back down, girl," Castiel warned.

"Go to Hell, Cas," she snapped.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, and she struggled, letting loose a couple of let-me-go's before a warmth, a pleasant one, filled her. He released her, and she fell back against the foot of the bed. Immediately she noticed that the pain from her cuts was gone. She reached down, dragging up the legs of her sweats to confirm. Her skin was milky, no nasty red gashes marring it any longer. She knew that she should be relieved, but a cloud of red covered her mind. How dare he? How dare he take away the one thing she could use to get back at Crowley, her inevitable healing time? How dare he do so without so much as asking?

She growled, her hand raising to fly across Castiel's cheek. He caught her wrist just inches before the slap could connect, and though the anger was still present in the grip, his features softened.

"I _am_ sorry for your predicament, Jo. Please understand. What I do I have no choice in."

She shook her head, trying to best to jerk her hand back, but Castiel wouldn't let go.

"I'm done feeling sorry for you, Castiel. Done. You could solve it all so easily, but you just won't open your damn eyes. You could free me from this necklace, from this weight that I feel like is never _going_ to be lifted. And you could go to Dean and Sam for help. But you're being a brat. A huge, celestial-powered, selfish _brat_."

"Jo," Cas said, tugging her forward by the grip he still held, but she only sighed.

"I hate myself, Castiel. I hate what I'm becoming for Crowley—nothing more than an errand girl. And most of all, I hate that the one friend I have doesn't seem to care."

Castiel's hand tightened, and Jo squeaked a little against the pain. "I don't have the luxury to care about just one person, Joanna Beth Harvelle. I, instead, have to worry about my Father's children all over this world."

"So that's it, huh? Me for the greater good?" she growled.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, I'd be fine with that if I was sure this was _actually_ for the greater good, instead of the foolish pursuits of angel who's in over his head and a manipulative, evil King of Hell."

"Back down. I'll not tell you again," Castiel said, his naturally gruff voice deepening further.

She leaned up, getting right in his face. "Never."

The space of a single heartbeat passed. And in that space, Jo was absolutely, completely uncertain about what was going to happen. A strange swell of feeling had washed over her, and she wasn't entirely sure it was still just anger. Or that it was still all negative. Castiel had his ocean blue eyes bearing into hers, searching for any signs of weakness. When he found none, this seemed to confuse him… and Jo thought she might even see something else there. Perhaps a bit of intrigue. He yanked her closer, dropping her wrist so that his arm wrapped about her waist. Jo's heart thudded in her chest, unsure of what was happening, if it should happen, or whether she cared or not. The two were frozen in place, staring as hard as possible into each other's eyes. A moment later, a small cough announced that they were no longer alone.

Castiel's grip on her waist disappeared, and Jo automatically retreated a handful of steps. Crowley grinned at both of them, his hands shoved within the pockets of his coat.

"Am I interrupting a lovers' quarrel?" he said, the laugh in his voice unmistakable.

When neither Jo nor Castiel said anything, the King of Hell shook his head.

"I'd like to take this moment to remind you that I don't damage your toys, Castiel, so I'd appreciate it if you'd do me the same consideration," he grinned.

"I'm not your damn toy," Jo snapped. She paused, expecting the necklace, but when Crowley only smiled at her, she added, "Why are you even here?"

"Because I've got good news I wanted to share with the both of you. That troll was rather fruitful, as are the little birdies I have planted all about. We're going after the key to Purgatory, kiddies!"

Jo and Cas exchanged a look before the angel turned to Crowley.

"What are you talking about?"

The King of Hell's grin was nothing short of smug as he eyed the both of them once more.

"Eve, the mother of all—as in, the mother of all monsters, is topside. In town. Putin' on the Ritz. And you, my little Joanna, are the one I'm sending after her."

Jo let her eyes slide shut. She would have never had thought it… but she really _did_ wish that Castiel hadn't healed her wounds.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Weeks. Jo, Malcolm, and Nell had been out on the road for weeks, following on the tails of rumors of Eve. Had it not had the ring of monotony to it, Jo would have thought it rather refreshing to be away from Crowley and his damned manor. Granted, save for only sleeping in seedy motels and when they were randomly gone on other business, she still spent all of her time with the only two demons she had grown to trust just enough to use them on every hunt. Not exactly pleasant company.

Crowley had had the first tidbits of information to get them started, given to her the moment he had interrupted her argument with Castiel. From then on, it was whatever they could gather from monsters. As it turned out, all monsters could hear their mother's voice. It drove them nearly wild, wanting to be near her, yet fearing her all the same. But, most importantly, it drove them to kill. So, Jo and her demons had been on hunt after hunt after hunt, zigzagging all across the United States trying their best to get ahead of Eve, if only by a step. So far, it had been no go. The demons were starting to act like irritable children the longer they had to stay in the car with the huntress, so to distract herself—and to help, despite her current, very pissed off feelings—Jo had also added the task to keep an eye out for the Weapons of Heaven for Castiel. A very spiteful part of her told her to drop it, that if Cas wanted those weapons so damned bad then _he_ could find them. But, then Ellen Harvelle's voice played in her daughter's ear: be the bigger—the better—person. Yes, Castiel was a spoiled brat who had no idea how to handle the responsibilities he had been granted. But he was right that the war in Heaven was important, and that the weapons would help him. So Jo would look for them.

Problem was, all these weeks, and not a single peep. Nothing that could even remotely be a Holy Weapon. Whoever this Balthazar was, this angel who had stolen the weapons, then he was doing a fine job of keeping them under wraps—now, at least. But as little sign that she had had about the weapons, she still felt like she was closer to finding them than Eve, as crazy as that seemed. But her mother had also taught her that, when in doubt, go with your gut. And Jo's gut was screaming at her about those divine weapons.

Now, after all those weeks, Jo stared at an article on her laptop's screen that seemed rather suspicious to her… like, weapons-weird. And she intended, fully, to follow up on it. It was a handful of miles from the motel she was currently sitting in with Nell and Malcolm—both of whom had their noses so far up in the air at the admittedly tacky décor that Jo just wanted to throw something at them. She pursed her lips, shutting the computer's top, and glanced up at the demons.

"I need the both of you to do some recon for me," she said.

Nell, her flaming hair restricted in a tight braid, arched a brow at her.

"And what makes you think that we'll just be nice little gophers for you?" she quipped.

"Because you'll be able to get closer to Eve than I will before she detects you, I would guess. You know, given your whole demon powers thing. And the more info we get, the closer we get. And the closer we get, the happier your boss is," Jo reasoned.

" _Our_ boss," Malcolm corrected with a jackal's grin.

Nell's eyes lit up at the idea of pleasing Crowley, and Jo smiled.

"And Nell's wannabe boyfriend, yes. And since she's so keen on keeping him happy, I thought the two of you wouldn't mind doing this."

Malcolm opened his mouth, no doubt ready to snap something terribly sarcastic at the huntress, but Nell cut him off.

"Where are we going?"

Jo just barely managed to keep the grin off her face as she thought of the very last place that the three of them had been on Eve's trail.

"That bar we were just at in Montana. The way it's looking, I think she's going to circle back through."

Malcolm was the very picture of skeptical. "And why in the hell would she do that?"

Jo shrugged. "What do you think this recon is for? But the signs, the monster movement, all of it… it points to Eve making a second pass."

Malcolm was clearly ready to argue, but Nell nodded.

"Then that's where we'll go. We'll be back in a few days, Joanna. Don't do anything supremely stupid, as hard as that may be for you," she said.

They were gone in a blink, and Jo groaned. At least they were out of her hair, which gave her enough time to check out the small town just miles away from the motel in Louisiana they were at. She did a five count, looking around the room as she desperately tried to decide whether she was going to get some sleep—it was three in the morning, after all—or head straight out. But she already knew that answer. Her stuff barely unpacked as it was, she gathered it all up and chucked inside the newest of the random vehicles Crowley had allowed her to use. She was on the road in minutes, and in the town she suspected of housing—somewhere—one of the Weapons of Heaven within the hour. She found herself in the town's downtown distract, her eyes scanning the closed shops and open bars as she wondered where she should begin.

There had been a significant increase in stabbings in this town. The problem was that the weapon didn't seem to be your typical knife. The coroner had described it as being closer to a lance of some sort, but even in the very official report Jo had read, it sounded like the man had thought that to be ridiculous. And maybe it would've been, except that Jo remembered the examples that Castiel had listed off for her when he had first asked for her help in finding the lost weapons. And one of them had been the Holy Lance—also known as the Spear of Destiny and several other names.

That was a weapon that had a lot of history. The weapon that had pierced Christ's side, testing to see if he was finally dead, which had resulted in blood and water spilling forth—proving both his humanity and his divinity. That action alone had given the spear special properties, and Jo had no problem in believing that an angel probably swooped down not one moment later to scoop it up. But rumor had it that even Hitler had owned it at some point, so who knew?

Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as the light before her flashed from red to green, Jo decided on the nearest bar to her vehicle, badly parallel parking in front of it. Giant letters announced the building as Gator Pit Saloon. Jo snorted a little at the name, but cut the engine and stepped out. The noise of the music playing inside was dull and thumping on the outside, and it only grew as she pulled open the stained-glass decorated doors. In fact, it was so loud that she was fairly certain that her eardrums had burst a little. Had it really been so long since Harvelle's that she couldn't take loud music anymore? Sighing, she pushed her way inside and scoped out an empty stool at the long bar along the left hand of the place.

A bartender, on the younger side of middle age, came up to her, his lips pulled into a long scowl. He pushed back a lock of his very reverse mullet out of his face, setting dark brown eyes on the huntress's face.

"ID?" he asked, brow arched.

Jo was plenty old enough to drink, but she didn't exactly have the ID to prove it. So she smiled, shaking her head.

"Not drinking. Just here for the company," she shouted over the music. "So a water. Oh, and your best fried appetizer."

The bartender seemed impressed, as if he had expected her to try and pull one over on him. His mood instantly lifting, he grinned and nodded, turning to place the order. He was back with her clear class of ice cold water—a wedge of lemon hanging from the rim—just as Jo was turning to scan the crowd.

In all honesty, she had no idea what it was she was exactly looking for. It was way too late—and she didn't have the necessary fake credentials with her—to make a stop by the police station—something she should have thought through. But, after a moment of craning her neck up and down the bar, and around the room, she spotted just what she wanted. Seated right next to her, a frosty mug of beer in his hand, and a cold, tired smile on his face, was the local sheriff. He kept responding jovially to those who would pass and chat him up, but the moment they disappeared, he was back to glaring back into his drink. The bartender returned with a large basket of fried pickles—along with a fair serving of ranch dressing to dip them in—and Jo saw her way in. Discreetly, she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse—hinting at cleavage without being _too_ forward—and leaned forward, pushing the basket of fried food into the sheriff's eye sight.

"Pickle?" she offered with the friendliest smile she could wrangle.

He blinked, his slightly bloodshot green eyes showing more than a little surprise that Jo had spoken with him. He turned to face her, and the huntress saw that he looked quite young to be a sheriff. His dirty-colored blond hair was cut short and neatly, falling just above his ear and sweeping in short locks to his neck. The dark shaded lights of the bar still caught off his badge, and reflected in Jo's eyes, and he reached into her basket with rugged hands to withdraw a single pickle.

"Best in the damned state, I'll tell you," he said, popping it whole into his mouth. "Thanks."

Jo smiled. "Welcome. And are they? I'm just passing through."

That seemed to warm him further, and he turned completely on his stool, dragging the tan hat on the counter closer to him.

"Oh, by far. How are you liking it here so far?" he asked.

"It's nice. I was too tired to do any exploring today, but I'm hoping to tomorrow. Any suggestions?"

He huffed out a small, choked laugh. "Honestly? No."

Jo frowned, picking up a pickle and taking a small bite. "Really? Nothing in your town you'd like an outsider to see and be envious of?"

He shook his head. "A week or so ago, maybe. But it's been a bad last couple of days."

Jo shoved another pickle into her mouth, trying to look like a semi-interested, fully flirtatious blonde as she looked at him with concern.

"Why? Is something bad going on in town? Lots of crime?"

He pursed his lips together, eyeing her as if he was wondering whether he should share so much with such a delicate young stranger. Either the beer or the way Jo was acting did the trick, because he finally nodded.

"Some murders, honestly."

Jo gasped, putting on her best freaked-out face. One she hadn't had to use in quite some time.

"Oh my goodness! I mean, what kind? Should I be careful out there tonight?"

He held up a hand, smiling warmly. "Well, you should _always_ be careful, a pretty young thing like you. But I think it's a personal thing, the deaths. I just can't figure it. And the damn coroner. Says the murder weapon is a lance. A lance? I mean, what is that about? Do you know I even checked to see if a Renaissance Faire had been in town anywhere near here recently? No, nothing. I just can't figure."

He paused, blinking. He stared down at his mug, finding it mostly empty, and laughed.

"I really shouldn't have said all that, ma'am. Police business, you understand," he apologized.

Jo smiled, waving it off. "Not a problem. So… these crimes, you said you thought they might be personal. Were all the victims members of the same family or did they all work together or something?"

The sheriff eyed her, and she laughed, shaking her head.

"I'm way into mystery novels," she explained.

He huffed, a smile playing about his lips. "Well, like I said, police business. But I'll tell you this much: you'd have to be blind not to see that there's some sort of connection between the victims."

With that, he stood—still mostly sober as there was not a wobble in his step—and threw down a wad of bills. Then, smiling, he tossed down a few more, motioning to the bartender that he'd be paying for Jo's food as well. He lifted up his hat, tugging it down over his head.

"Have a safe evening, ma'am. Enjoy the town, and it's been great talking with you," he said.

Jo muttered a "you, too" as the sheriff exited the bar. And then she sighed. That conversation had told her exactly nothing, except that she had been right about the murders—something she had not really doubted. She eyed her basket of pickles, of which she had somehow worked more than halfway through. She finished off the rest as the bartender gathered up the bills and confirmed that both tabs were fully paid. Jo smiled and left the bar.

She was at the driver's side door of the car when she heard the scuffle in the alleyway beside the bar. She reached down, making sure that her trusty silver dagger was still there, and took off in the direction of the sound. She made a slow approach, pulling out the weapon only when she was shrouded in shadow. She stopped at the corner, taking a tiny peek.

As far as she could see, there was no one there. She entered the alley, making slow steps toward the dead end back of it. The heels of her boots seemed to click loudly, even over the dull drum of music pouring out of the bar. She made it past the green dumpster up against the left wall before she was finally convinced she was actually alone in the enclosed space. Of course, fate liked to prove Jo wrong recently.

"Well, aren't you a pretty bird," a voice with a distinctly English accent said.

She knew it wasn't Crowley… the voice was too light for his dark, gravel tones. She whirled, finding a man dressed in jeans, a gray, slightly V-necked shirt, and a black, causal suit jacket staring at her. His hair was short, curled close to his head, and mousy brown with lots of blond highlights from what she could tell in the light of a passing car. The darkness of the alleyway was too much for her to make out anything more than just the peach fuzz beard and mustache—which looked more like lazy shaving than anything else. Jo raised her dagger.

"Who are you?" she asked.

He raised his hands, putting his elbows at his waist. "Now, now. I was just investigating you, since you seemed so interested in those murders that are happening hereabouts. Silver dagger?" he asked, pointing to the blade.

She smirked. "What do you think?"

He smiled. "Huntress. And a spunky one at that. Won't work, luv. And I'm not here to fight you… not necessarily, anyways. Name's Balthazar."

Jo's eyes widened. He laughed.

"Ah, so you've heard of me."

"You're Castiel's brother. The angel who's stolen the weapons," she said, lowering the knife—because he was right, it wouldn't work.

He lowered his hands too, nodding. "Ah. So you know _Cas_."

Jo slipped the dagger back in her boot, crossing her arms. "Yeah. At least, I thought I did."

Balthazar raised a brow at her. "That's a first. Every bloody human I've come across that's met my little brother seems to love him. You seem positively icy about him. One of his arrivals fluff your hair too badly or something?"

Jo's brow furrowed. Did Balthazar not know about Castiel's dealings with Crowley? And what other people—Sam and Dean?—had Balthazar met? She decided she was going to test the waters with this one.

"When was the last time you spoke with him?"

Balthazar shrugged. "Months ago, when he showed up at my house to lecture me about the weapons. Oh and my fake death and everything."

"Lot of fake deaths happening," Jo mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "So… you and Castiel? Just brothers… or were you friends too?"

Balthazar laughed, hard, actually slapping his knee in the process. "Friends? Angels don't have friends, luv. Angels don't have much of anything, honestly. Not unless you're at the top of the totem pole."

"An archangel," Jo guessed.

Balthazar made a finger gun at her, winking and clicking his tongue once. "You betcha."

"So… Castiel hasn't come to you about any plans, about winning the war in Heaven?"

The angel sighed, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, he asked me to help."

"And you said no?"

"No," he said, holding up a finger. "I said I was on his side. But that I wouldn't give him the weapons."

"What?" Jo asked, throwing her hands up. "That makes no damned sense. Why say you were on his side but not help him? What, you just wanna be cheerleader or something?"

"Cheerleader is a rather nice idea," he said.

Jo gestured to the town behind the angel. "And these murders? This is being a cheerleader? I heard about what happened with the Moses Staff too, by the way. Sounds like you're being more a pain in the ass than anything else."

"My, my," Balthazar grinned. "Do I detect a little crush that you have on our dear Castiel?"

"Kiss my ass," she snapped.

"I would, gladly, as it looks rather nice and shapely. Little friendly advice about our dear friend Castiel… wouldn't know what to do with a woman if she begged him to take her."

Jo's hands flew to her head, and she rubbed her temples. "Why not just fork over the weapons? I mean, why toy with them, letting everyone know where you are—or where you've been? Just give them to Cas and be done with it. They could help him. They could stop this civil war. They could keep him from making a stupid mistake!"

"And what mistake would that be, dear?"

Jo forced out a sigh. She was moments away from spilling the beans, informing him all about Castiel's little deal. But… she didn't know what Balthazar would do with that information. And, although she was still royally pissed at Castiel… she really didn't want him hurt or hunted. So she just shook her head.

"I meant, in the future. They could help him win the war, Balthazar. That's the point I'm trying to make."

He shook his head. "Cas doesn't have a chance, with or without the weapons. And I think he knows that."

Jo strode forward a few steps, closing some of the rather expansive distance between her and the angel.

"I just don't get you damn angels. You call each other brother and sister, but the moment one actually needs you to act like one, you turn tail and run. Castiel helped stop your corrupt older brothers from turning the world to shit, and all you can do is just sit back and use your stolen weapons to kill random humans? That's not family. Families love one another and help each other out whether they want to or not. There's a trust there, built in at the core. And you're pissing all over it by not helping the brother you claim to be siding with. I mean, can you say that with certainty, with absolute, one hundred percent certainty, that Cas _can't_ win?"

Balthazar looked away from her, for the first time. Jo smiled, triumphant. But that was short-lived. Her necklace, still heavy about her neck, grew warm, and she felt as if someone was standing near her, tugging on it. In fact, it was beginning to choke her just a little. She rubbed at her neck, bringing her hand down to rest over the heart pendant. Balthazar glanced back at her, pointing at her hand.

"What's that then? That necklace? Looks like it's hurting you, kid," he said.

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing. Look, just think about what I said, please? And get back that damn lance from whoever is using it to kill? Just stop the deaths, all right? I'd hate to have to come back here and kick your ass."

Balthazar smiled. "Well, since you seem so nice and all that. See you around."

He snapped his fingers—causing Jo to jump and brace on instinct—but he only vanished. Groaning, she marched her way out of the alley toward her car, only to find that it was not unoccupied. Crowley smiled, waving at her from the passenger seat. She opened up the driver's door and climbed in, slamming it after her.

"Was that you? With this necklace?" she asked.

He smiled. "Nifty little detail it has there, isn't it?"

She leaned back, placing a hand over her eyes. "Go to Hell."

"Really, Joanna. That's the best you've got?"

Jo didn't say anything. Crowley laughed.

"Oh, and although I thought this would be a given, it _is_ against the rules to fraternize with strange angels. Never know whether they're friendly or not. Really should be common knowledge, darling," the King of Hell said.

Jo sighed. So much for covertly searching for the weapons… she couldn't even keep Crowley from knowing about her chat with Balthazar.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"A question I should ask you, but I'll refrain. I just heard from Nell, and she said that she couldn't get a hold of you. Which is terribly confusing since I so nicely bought you that shiny new mobile. But, all things aside, they're in the next town over. Turns out, the three of you had missed a very important clue about Eve's visit there that clearly indicated where the Mother of All would be next. Nice call sending them back, Joanna. Even if it was a ruse to help your angelic boyfriend find his missing trinkets."

Jo pursed her lips. Yes, fate did indeed seem to be out to screw her over. She nodded.

"Fine. I'll head over to the town. Where can I meet them at?"

"The town's biggest watering hole, The Moonlicker Saloon. Sounds a bit like a gay biker's bar for the adventurous, but hey, who am I to judge? I'll leave you the address. Go straight there, _tonight_ , Joanna. And then come straight home. Or else. Am I understood?"

She grinned at him, deliberately straining it. "Yes, _sir_."

"Oh, I love it when you're mad at me. So cute. Kisses," Crowley said, disappearing with a _snap_.

Jo sighed, cranked her car, and glanced over to the now unoccupied passenger seat to see a folded piece of paper. She flipped it open, finding the Google map directions that led straight from where she was at to the saloon in question. She sighed and pulled out into the road.

It took her an hour to get to her destination, and she parked in the still fairly full parking lot. A bar open at a little past four o'clock in the morning was probably about ready to close up for night, so the amount of cars in the parking lot seemed a little… strange to her. She stepped out of her car, and jumped as Malcolm and Nell appeared on either side of her. Nell rounded to her front, the look on her face somewhere between annoyance and smug pride. Jo could understand. By now, the demon had surely figured out that the errand that Jo had sent them on was little more than a distraction… but, then again, they _had_ found something. Jo sighed.

"Why this bar?" Jo asked, pointing to the dark building that loomed above the three of them several feet away.

Nell shrugged. "She's been hitting bars all over the country for some reason. Some she kills in, others she just leaves behind. It's like she's doing tests."

Malcolm walked away, reaching in the backseat of the car. He came back with two machetes, tossing one to Nell. Jo paused.

"Should we really go in there, weapons blazing?" she asked.

"If you'd take a minute to actually listen, you might notice why we're armed," Malcolm growled.

So both of her demon companions were pissed. Whatever. But, now that no one was speaking, she took his advice and listened. Silence. Normally, at night, in nearly any other public place, that would be normal. But at a bar? No. Not normal. Jo withdrew her dagger, and together, the three of them headed straight for the front door.

They were just in the little drive area in the front where all the pedestrian walkways were when the doors of the bar opened. They froze as a dark haired woman, dressed in a tattered and dirty white gown stepped out. Her skin was ashen, and but she moved with an almost ethereal grace as she came to a pause right before them. She scanned all of them, grinning.

"Two demons and a hunter. Must be a present from Crowley," she laughed.

Malcolm and Nell tensed, their weapons coming up in front of them just a little. Jo followed suit. This was Eve. Her very presence told the three of them that. This was the Mother of All Monsters that they had been searching for, but having her walk out right to them? Not only was it unexpected… it was trouble. Jo knew that meant that Eve didn't fear them. Between monsters and hunters, this was not really a strange occurrence. But even monsters feared demons once they recognized them for what they were. But Eve was grinning at them as if her guests had finally arrived for her tea party.

Malcolm and Nell strode forward, ready for attack. Eve flicked her hand and the two demons flew away, _far_ away. When Jo dared glanced behind her, she couldn't even see where they had landed. She whirled back to Eve, weapon still raised.

"We need to have a little girl talk, honey," she said. When Jo still didn't lower her weapon, she laughed, adding, "Oh, please. That little pig-sticker isn't going to do _anything_ to me. I just wanna talk."

For the second time that night, Jo broke the number one rule in the hunter's handbook. She lowered her weapon in the face of a very powerful foe. Tucking it in her boot, she watched as Eve sighed and smiled wider. The Mother of All seemed to take Jo in, her eyes roving her body before finally stopping at her neck.

"I know that necklace. Nasty piece of business," she said. Cocking her head to the right, she continued, "I'm willing to bet you hunting my babies for Crowley isn't something you're doing willingly?"

Jo wetted her lips, nodding. "Yeah. That's right."

"Wonderful. Just wonderful. That's just what I need," Eve said, stepping forward.

Jo wanted to back away, but Eve stopped just a foot or so from her. Now Jo was really regretting putting her weapon away.

"I need you to send a message to that arrogant Crowley."

"A message?"

"That's right, dear."

Jo nodded. "Fine. What is it?"

Eve's smile vanished, practically vaporized, off her face. "Tell him: back off, or you'll regret it."

That wasn't going to go over well. But Jo nodded.

"Got it."

"Great!"

Eve began to move toward her, and Jo pulled her weapon out of her boot faster than she had ever in her entire life. Eve rolled her eyes, laughing.

"Please," she said, walking right past the huntress. "Like you could ever hope to fight me."

Jo turned, watching as the Mother of All disappeared into the night. Only then did Jo's racing heart slow to a normal pace. Once Eve was no longer visible, Malcolm and Nell reappeared at Jo's side. Nell shook her head, making a _tsk_ noise with her tongue.

"Crowley's not going to be happy with you," she said in almost a sing-song.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Another car lost to the cause of finding Purgatory, Malcolm had snatched Jo up and whisked her away back to Crowley's manor. Of course, Nell had gone ahead, and Jo had made the argument that she at least needed the items within the car. So, once she had her duffle slung over her shoulder, Nell already a good five or ten minutes ahead of them, Malcolm dropped her off—and vanished—just inside the manor's front doors. Sighing, Jo made the short walk to her room, tossing the duffle inside. She made to follow after, but a deep rumbling in her stomach pulled her to a halt. She rubbed a hand across her midsection, sighing, and turning toward the kitchen. This, as it was, put her walking right by the large sitting room/office, where the door was slightly ajar. Jo could already smell the scotch before she could see Crowley sitting, reclined back, in one of his ridiculously long lounge chairs. The large, flat screen television that hung on the wall opposite the chair was on, a black and white movie playing on it at a low volume. Jo shook her head, took one step towards passing the room altogether, and was called to a stop.

"Jo, darling. Could you come in here, please?" Crowley called, not even bothering to tear his eyes away from his movie.

Jo lifted her hand to the necklace, rubbing it nervously. Damn it all. All she wanted was a quick bite to eat and bed. Crowley couldn't wait one more day to hear about how she oh-so-obviously didn't have Eve? She rolled her eyes.

"Can't this wait? I'm kind of hungry, and you were the one on me about making sure I ate," she argued.

The television was switched off, and now Crowley was standing, scotch still in hand, facing her in the doorway.

"Do we really have to do _this_ , Joanna? Get in here. Now."

Jo sighed. She entered the sitting room, Crowley indicating for her to shut the door behind her. Jo did as she was told, and Crowley gestured her closer to the desk that set on the far right of the room. Its top was filled with items not normally seen on a desk—a demonic bowl, a plain pewter bowl, a tall thick black pillar candle, and oddly the most normal thing on the desk, one of those perpetual motion sculptures. Crowley leaned against the outside edge of the desk, crossing his arms and finishing his scotch. He smacked his lips, once, and locked eyes with the huntress.

"Nell paid me a visit not too long ago," he said.

Jo groaned, putting her back to the King of Hell for a moment before turning back. She shrugged, throwing her hands up in the air.

"Should I even bother giving you my side of the story? I mean, if your little girlfriend has already ratted me out, what are the chances of you believing me? I mean, really?"

Crowley grinned. "Enlighten me anyways, sweetheart. Because, as Nell describes it, you let Eve, my precious key to Purgatory, waltz right _bloody_ by you!"

Jo shook her head, noting how Crowley had set his scotch glass down and how he was no longer reclined on the desk.

"I didn't have a choice, Crowley. You weren't there. Eve? She's strong. She flicked Malcolm and Nell away like they were nothing. And she didn't want to fight."

"Didn't _want_ to fight? Since when are we in the business of asking these monsters what it is that they want?" Crowley growled.

Poor wording, Jo supposed, but that was honestly the only way to describe it. She pursed her lips, her eyes locked on Crowley's.

"Eve would've killed me. And she _didn't_ want to fight. She gave me a message to give to you, since, apparently, she knows what you're up to."

Crowley's brow arched. "Really? And what was said message?"

"She said, 'back off, or you'll regret it.'"

Crowley laughed, leaning forward to even slap his knee once. Jo's body tensed. This was definitely not the expected reaction. There was a trap here, a catch to this seemingly jovial mood. And, when the King of Hell lifted his face to smirk at her, she saw it a moment too late. He had his right hand around her throat, the chain of the antique necklace biting into her flesh, and he whirled, shoving her down against the flat top of the desk. Most of the items were thrown to the floor, only the black pillar candle being caught in Crowley's free hand. He pressed Jo down hard, sliding her up so that her head fell backward off the other side of the desk, her hair caught somewhere between hanging freely down and being caught underneath her. She choked against the force he held his hand there, and he let up, if only a little. Shaking his head, he _tsked_ at her.

"Obviously, you _want_ to be killed. You want the pain and torture that Hell brings, that this necklace will drag you down to. After all, I can think of no other reason why you'd disobey your master so much, so often. I mean, I've trained _hellhounds_. Never have I had to punish one as much as I've had to punish you. I mean, are you really keen on seeing if I'm bluffing with what this pretty little trinket means for you?"

He let up a little bit more on her throat, and Jo sucked in one defiant breath.

"You are _not_ my master," she gasped.

His hand tightened again, and Jo was sure that the chain of the necklace had broken her flesh now. He pressed his body up against hers, leaving Jo unable to flail with anything more than just her arms, which were now grasping the single arm Crowley held her down by. He sighed.

"What will it take for you to learn, girl? How do you still hold on to the delusion that you have _any_ control in this situation? That you can still believe that you are anything more than my puppet?"

Jo dug her nails into his arm, and Crowley chuckled, his eyes trailing to the long, thick pillar candle in his left hand.

"Maybe you need a nice, humbling example of servitude," he said.

He slid his hand up, using his forearm to pin her chest, and pried her mouth open. She struggled beneath him, but it was no use. Crowley was still a demon, and now he was a demon with the extra kick of being the King of Hell. He may not look it, but he packed a serious wallop. Jo watched helplessly as he lifted up the black, single-wick candle. He turned it so that the wick-end was aligned with her held-open mouth and huffed.

"Just remember, sweetie," he said, grinning down. "This could be a _lot_ more humiliating for you. Frankly, I'm still going easy on you. Last chance for that, by the way."

Jo's eyes narrowed in confusion, her mind unable to fathom what he could mean to do to her with the candle. But a second later, she had her answer. He shoved the wick-end of the candle deep into her mouth, moving his hand so that he forced her lips to close around the waxy object. She gagged as he shoved it as far back as he could without doing permanent damage, withdrawing it almost all the way, only to drive it home again.

"Oh, something tells me that you're a girl who can take it deep," he laughed.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes as he continued to force her to give fellatio to the candle. All the while, he grinned down at her, moving the candle faster and faster—as if he were truly, sexually, enjoying this. And, for all Jo knew, he might be. Her face turned a bright red as she thought of all the intimate ways Crowley had seen her. It sickened her to know that this torture, this punishment, that he was performing on her now was the perfect one, the one to remind her of all the others—of the first, truly terrible one when she had just showered, of the one he had made her strip for, and even of that tiny little moment in the shifter warehouse where he had reached to pull her dress hem down to its proper length. Her teeth caught on the wax, curls of it coming off in her mouth as Crowley continued to move it in and out. Tears finally broke free and rolled silently down her cheeks, and Crowley practically glowed with triumph. The candle was making her throat sore—she could feel the wick tickle the back of her throat, making her gag every time he shoved it in deep—and it was enough to make her stomach churn. Her nails dug into his arm, but that only seemed to spurn him on.

"That's right, Johanna. _Now_ you're beginning to see," he said, his voice coming in husky breaths, as if she were actually performing the act on his flesh. "This little image you have of yourself? The powerful huntress? The independent girl who can stand up to the big, bad King of Hell? The one who can take the torture and save the day? It's all shit. In reality, you're nothing more than my plaything, my _pet_. You will do what I say, when I say it! Or I'll put you down just like any other disobedient pup."

Jo dug her nails in as hard as possible, even managing to work her fingers up underneath his suit's jacket and shirt. She could feel them breaking flesh as she put all the strength she had into it, could feel the warm blood on her fingertips. But he kept the candle moving, and now he was even leaning his body harder into hers. Panic was setting in. This punishment wasn't going to end like the others. She could feel it. Things were about to go from bad to unimaginably worse if something didn't stop it.

Almost on cue, the familiar sound of an angel's arrival sounded behind Crowley. The demon let his eyes slide over his shoulder as he gently removed the candle from Jo's mouth. He set it, upright, beside her head—the better for Castiel not to see.

"Castiel," he said, letting go of Jo and turning. "Did my favorite girl pray to you?"

"I… didn't," Jo managed to cough out, her throat feeling raw.

He mouth and jaw ached as well, and she struggled to put herself on her feet, rubbing the place where Crowley's hand had been. Her tears had long since dried, forgotten in the desperation of trying to get Crowley to stop before things got too out of hand, so she was hopeful that Castiel wouldn't comment on what he had just arrived in the middle of.

"No, she did not pray for me. Rather, I am here to ask your permission in borrowing Jo for a time," the angel replied.

Heat rose to Jo's face as she gritted her teeth. Borrow her? Like she was Crowley's damn possession? Jo pushed herself off the desk, moving to stand beside the demon as he arched a brow at Castiel. He glanced from Jo to Cas before chuckling.

"Why not?" he said. "Since you asked so nicely. And since I'm done with her for the moment anyway."

Jo's body shook with the effort of trying to keep her outrage in check. Thankfully, Crowley was in a rather chatty mood tonight, and addressed Jo before she could even form the words to express her rage.

"Play nice with Cas, Jo," he said before turning back to Castiel. "Just make sure my girl makes it home safe and sound, you understand?"

"Of course," Castiel said.

Before Jo could say or ask anything, the angel strode forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. In a flash, they were standing in one of those rent-by-the month storage bins, random, unmarked brown packing boxes piled up all around them. Her eyes narrowed.

"Why should I even help you? I mean, the last time I saw you, I believe I was telling you where you could get off. I'll admit you got me out of a pinch back there, but really, didn't it occur to you that I might be done with helping you?" she ranted.

"I know you went looking for a weapon in Louisiana," he said, turning about in place, as if he had X-ray vision and was looking for something inside one of the multitude of boxes.

"Balthazar told you?" she asked.

He nodded. "Raphael means to finish it tonight, but Balthazar came to me. He told me that he had hidden the weapons all about the United States. We were being spied upon, an angel loyal to Raphael. We realized it soon, but not soon enough. So we formed a plan. Balthazar said that he had since moved the weapons all to one location, a motel room that was spelled so that only the key to the room would grant it access. He said he would bring it to Sam and Dean while I ran."

"So, you're running? Then why bring me along?" Jo asked, reaching down to make sure her trusty knife was on her.

"I'm not running. Sam and Dean are the distraction. Raphael has sent Virgil after them, to get the key and the location. But Balthazar will send them, and possibly Virgil, into an alternate dimension. I have no doubt that Raphael means to pull Virgil, with the key, back into our world by midnight… at least, in our world's time. So we must have the weapons gathered by then."

Jo's mouth dropped open into an O of surprise. "You're using Sam and Dean as _decoys_? That's just _wrong_ , Cas."

Exasperated, Castiel whirled, throwing his hands in the air.

"I had no other choice. Now, will you help me or not?" he asked.

Jo nodded. "Yes. Of course. In whatever way I can. Now, why are we here? And where is here?"

"It's a storage facility outside of Swartz Creek, Michigan. Balthazar has hidden two of the weapons here," Castiel said.

His eyes left her again, scanning the room once more. Finally, he pointed somewhere into the darkened rear of the room.

"There. In the second box on that row," he said, rushing to the back.

Jo watched him disappear from sight, the sound of items jumbling about following, only to have him reappear with a cloth and a dagger in his hands.

"Where are we going to put them all, as we're gathering? We can't just tote them all around with us," she said.

"I've got the perfect location," he said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

In a flash, they were back in Crowley's manor, in Jo's room to be precise. She whirled, watching Castiel lay the items on her bed.

"Here?" she asked incredulously. "Is that really such a good idea?"

"It's the best one we have at the moment," he said. "Come on."

And they were gone again, reappearing inside a darkened house this time. On first glance, it looked to be just a normal home, but on closer inspection, Jo realized it was nothing more than one of those model houses that realtors liked to use in up and coming neighborhoods. Castiel disappeared from the flawless living room they had landed in, and Jo followed after him into a similarly perfect kitchen.

"So, out of curiosity, why do you need me for this?" she asked.

It seemed as if she were going for some sort of record of perfect timing tonight, as another flutter of wings announced another angel's arrival. Jo whirled, finding herself face to face with a young man with short, blond-red hair and a smattering of freckles across his pale features.

"That's why," Castiel said as she charged forward.

His angel killing knife dropped into his hand as he engaged the other angel in combat.

"Find the weapon!" he yelled after Jo, dodging a knife swipe to his face.

Jo nodded, running into the kitchen. She pulled open two or three different drawers before she realized that she had no idea what it was that she was looking for. She turned, eyes wide as Castiel sidestepped a move that put him too close to being gutted.

"What is this weapon?" she called.

The other angel grinned. "Yes, Castiel? What is the weapon that we're searching for here?"

Castiel lifted his leg, landing a kick in the other angel's stomach, causing him to fly backward and land on his back.

"A cup. A very old, old cup," he said. "It looks like a goblet."

With a roar, the other angel was back on his feet as Jo rushed to the cabinets, throwing them open and tossing the fake china to the floor. Finally, she caught side of a plain, metal goblet. She reached forward, snatching it and whirling.

"I've got it, Cas. Let's go!" she said.

The angel moved to clothesline Cas, but he whirled around the move, plunging his knife into his opponent's stomach. The angel cried out, falling back as light shone out of his eyes and mouth.

"Well done, Jo," he said, taking her back to her room to drop the divine weapon off.

Jo barely had time to drop the cup on the bed before they were in another, different location. This time, it was a seemingly empty field in a place that Jo couldn't identify. She turned in place, her head shaking.

"What in the hell could the weapon be here?" she asked.

Castiel grinned in the way that said the joke he perceived might only be funny to him. Jo stared at him until he nodded and explained, "We're searching for the weapons of Heaven."

"And?"

Cas chuckled low. "And you said 'what in the hell.' Ironic."

Jo shook her head. "I'm not sure if that's actually irony or not. But, at least you're getting closer. Seriously, though, what are we looking for here?"

Castiel seemed a little crestfallen, but he began to scan their surroundings nonetheless. Finally, his eyes fell on something in the distance—something that Jo had no hope of seeing. He reached out, touching her shoulder, and suddenly they were several yards—maybe several hundred yards—away from where they had been. He pointed down at a low piece of shrubbery that lined this edge of the field, marking it off from the too-thin cement barrier that kept it, in turn, separated from the road.

"A shrubbery? Okay, we don't have to find a tree and a herring too, do we?" she asked.

Castiel arched a brow at her. "What? What does a fish have to do with the weapons?"

She laughed, the noise escaping her body in a single breath. "Never mind. So… do we uproot it? Or do we have to pot it?"

"It's not a normal bush, Jo. We can just take it. It won't die," Castiel said, reaching down.

He grasped the bush by the barely visible stem underneath and yanked it skyward. Suddenly, Cas's head turned to the left.

"We have to hurry. I can hear another of my brothers coming," he said, grasping her shoulder.

Again, they were back in her room, and Castiel laid the bush—dirty stem and all—on the plush red comforter of Jo's bed. She grinned, thinking of how that would dearly irk the King of Hell. She was glad she was coming along on this little mission.

"We've only a few more," her angel companion said as Jo glimpsed her watch.

"It's almost midnight. We've only got about an hour and a half," she noted.

He nodded once, laying a hand on her. "Let's go."

They made it through a whole six more weapons without being caught by one of the angels that sided with Raphael. The pile on Jo's bed in Crowley's manor was growing quite large, and with only one more weapon left to collect—Gabriel's horn, the actual one this time—Jo knew that their lucky streak was unlikely to last.

They arrived in the middle of a closed music store, a line of trumpets hanging from the top inside of the display window.

"Dean went to a music shop as well when he thought he was after the horn," Castiel explained as he approached the instruments.

"Yeah, when they were after Veritas, right?"

Castiel nodded, placing a hand on each horn in turn. From the look on his face, Jo could tell that he was in the deepest concentration, his lips pursed tightly together. Finally, when he arrived at the last horn in the line, he smiled, tugging it down from its hook.

"This is it," he announced, turning.

"Fantastic, brother," said a voice from behind Jo.

In the next moment, she felt herself being thrown backward, the newly arrived angel having gripped her throat and tossing her over his shoulder. Almost like she was a wadded piece of discarded paper. She managed to crash into a large drum set mostly, with only her torso smacking the wood paneled wall behind them and sliding down. She groaned, trying her best to get back to her feet. However, she had help there. A hand came down at her throat, pressing the chain of the necklace into her flesh, and lifted her up off the ground. Her vision blurred around the edges a bit before she forced herself to focus in on her attacker.

He was tall, very tall. Her feet were dangling in the air, but he was holding her so that their heads were level with one another. He was also built like a linebacker. His hair was shaved close to his head, and black from what Jo could see of it.

"Remiel," Castiel said. "Put her down. She has nothing to do with this."

"And yet," Remiel said, shaking Jo once, "you've been toting this little Mud Monkey around with you all evening."

His voice was deep and rumbling, like angry thunder before a terrible storm. She struggled, kicking him once or twice experimentally. But when he didn't so much as flinch, she stopped, and began to just trust that Castiel could get her out of this.

"She's… my friend," Castiel said, and the words sounded painful.

"And you won't remove the necklace from her? Free her from its terrible promise?"

Jo's eyes widened. How many damn people knew about this thing? When Castiel didn't answer Remiel, he chuckled.

"Ah, you aren't the one who put it on, though, are you? But you still have the power to remove it, and you won't. Which means… she has information. Information you don't want someone to know. Perhaps I should carry her to Raphael, have him remove the necklace. Then, he could make this pretty little monkey sing for him."

"No," Castiel growled, his fist tightening around his angel blade—when that had appeared in his hand, Jo had no idea.

"Then the horn, Castiel. Now."

Remiel tightened his grip, and try as she might, the little choked sound she wanted to keep in escaped. Castiel's eyes drifted, just for a second, down to the horn before turning back to Jo.

"Put her down first," Castiel said.

Remiel shook his head. "Not going to happen."

Castiel surveyed the horn again. And Jo watched as his grip loosened on it. Her eyes widened. He was going to do it. He was going to hand over the horn. To save her. She had begged him to save her time and time again, every time she asked him to remove the necklace. Every time she told him what Crowley did to her in his little torture sessions. She had just about convinced herself, by now, that Castiel didn't give a damn about her. But…

Like a ton of bricks, it hit her.

"Don't," she choked out.

Remiel laughed. "I'll kill you. Cas knows that."

Castiel looked just as surprised by her reaction as Jo had been by his. She locked eyes with him, trying to make him understand. Trying to make him see that he should do what he had to do to keep the weapon. The weapons were his only hope. Not Purgatory. And a part of him, she thought in that moment, might think that too… even if it were only a small part.

"Don't," she repeated.

"So, what will it be, Cas? Sacrifice the human for the horn? Or the horn for the human?"

Castiel's eyes were still trained on Jo's dangling form. And his grip tightened on the horn once more.

"Jo," he said.

A brief pause in which the two only stared at one another. Finally, he sighed.

"Close your eyes," he finished.

"What?" Remiel said, truly surprised.

Instead of the horn, Castiel hurled the angel blade at his angelic brother. The action caught the new angel off guard, and cost him dearly. The weapon lodged itself in between Remiel's eyes, and Jo closed her own eyes just in time to miss the light show. Now dead, his grip slackened, and Jo landed on her feet, coughing. Castiel rushed over to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "Let's go."

In a flash, they were back in her room, the horn added to the assortment of weapons.

"Is that it? Is that all of them?" Jo asked.

"Yes," Castiel said, moving to one side of the bed, facing the pile.

"So… what do you do now?"

"I have to secure them," he explained.

Jo glanced back at her watch and gasped.

"It's almost midnight. About ten till. Whatever you've gotta do to secure them, do it fast!"

"Close your eyes," the angel said to her for the second time that night.

Castiel began to glow, the white light emanating from him growing quickly in intensity. Jo covered her eyes as well as shut them—for good measure. She could feel the light, oddly enough, on her skin. She was sure it must have been covering the room, and she would've given nearly anything to have Crowley walk into the room at that exact moment. Alas, he did not, and the light faded away as Jo reopened her eyes.

The weapons were gone. Even the dirt from the bush was gone. Her bed was pristine, and Castiel nodded once. Jo shook her head.

"I don't understand," she said, stepping to the end of the bed. "Where did they go?"

"They're in me," he answered.

"What?"

"They are a part of me now. That's where they're kept in Heaven," Castiel further explained.

Jo's brow furrowed. " _Inside_ an angel?"

"Yes. Every millennia or so, an angel is elected to serve as guardian to the weapons. It's a high honor. That was how Balthazar was able to steal them. He was the elected angel, and then he faked his death. We thought we had lost the weapons forever, since we had been unable to recover his vessel's body. Of course, now we know why."

Jo couldn't help it. She was impressed. Both by Balthazar's cunning, and by just this basic tidbit from the side of Heaven. Vaguely, the whole thing reminded her of that movie, _The Fifth_ _Element_. Castiel drew her attention back by moving around the corner, stopping just before he reached the center of the room.

"I have to go," he said.

Jo looked to her watch once more. It was now five minutes until midnight. She nodded.

"Get them back safely," she said.

He acknowledged her comment… but made no move to leave. She arched a brow at him.

"What are you doing, Cas? Go!"

"Jo… when I arrived earlier this evening…" Castiel began.

No. No, no, no. Jo could feel her face flushing. Please, she wanted to bed. Please don't ask this.

"What was Crowley doing to you?"

Jo felt the heat rush to her face as her embarrassment, her vulnerability laid bare once more, rose. She shook her head, and even though Castiel had not turned to face her yet, she thought she was sure that he could tell.

"Tell me," he said, now turning to face her fully.

She shook her head again. "I don't have time to explain."

"Joanna," he said, and it stunned her, the tone he used. It was oddly parental… yet not at all.

Jo sighed, turning her head so that she didn't have to look him in the eye.

"He was making me… perform a sexual action. On a candle. _Very_ forcibly."

Castiel's eyes narrowed as he gave a tiny head shake. "I don't understand."

Jo's mind was awash in memories. Memories of all the times Crowley had made her feel uncomfortable in her own skin, of all the times she had been exposed to him. Her hand flew to the necklace—the damn, damn, damn thing—as she fumbled with its pendant.

"It was a lesson in subservience. In humiliation. And… it succeeded."

It was a long moment. She was sure it was past midnight now. Finally, for that reason alone, she forced herself to meet Castiel's eyes. They were sad, almost a little glassy. It was almost as if he suffered from a deep pain.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice almost hollow, like he couldn't reach parts of himself that he needed to… like it hurt too much. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you from… that."

"You mean that," she said.

"Of course I do."

She hadn't meant it accusingly, but she could understand his mistake. She managed a small smile.

"You can make it up to me. By making sure Sam and Dean get home safe… and stay that way. Deal?"

He nodded, in a storm of wings, he was gone. Jo's eyes lowered to the floor of her room, her hand moving up from the pendant now to where the chain rested against her neck. She worked her fingers, gingerly, underneath it, and winced. Her flesh was just now beginning to scab over… and she knew that Crowley, not Remiel, was at the cause of this wound. She pulled herself up onto the foot of the bed, gathering her knees underneath her chin. And, for she didn't know how long, she just sat there, telling herself not to cry.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Jo could never mark the event on a calendar or anything, but she knew it when it had happened. Crowley was finished hunting for the Alphas. They were, officially, yesterday's news. Now, all that the King of Hell could rant about was Eve. He was convinced that she was key. And Jo really couldn't argue with his reasoning. As far as creatures from Purgatory went, she was the only one topside. If anyone would know how to get back, then it would have to be her.

But, right now, in this moment, that was the furthest thing from Jo's mind. Right now, Jo was entirely focused in on the vampire she had tied to a chair. She was in the middle of an abandoned house that was mostly falling apart. Her weapons of choice were laid out on the decaying island countertop in the center of the kitchen she had set up in, and the vampire—a woman whose pale face as stained a deep red, her black hair straightened down her back to perfection—was laughing at the huntress.

"I see that Crowley's taught you nothing," he huffed, her tongue rolling out to lap up the blood still on her lips—her own blood.

Jo turned the knife she held over in her hand, glaring at the monster. It had taken her a week to finally catch this vampire, without the aid of Nell or Malcolm. It would have been easier if she had just been out to kill her, but she wasn't. She needed information, and, typically, the dead weren't terribly forthcoming. But, as it turned out, nearly was this vampire.

"I'll take that as a compliment," the huntress sniped at the monster.

The vampire woman shook her head. "You shouldn't."

Jo turned over the knife once more. "Tell me what you know about Purgatory."

"Um," the vampire said, her eyes drifting skyward in thought. "it's where vamps go when we die."

"We can skip the orientation course."

"Oh, well, then, you should have told me that. In that case, it's a magical land where blood flows like rivers, and vampires have never been affected by the atrocity that is _Twilight_."

Jo growled, putting her back to the vampire—who was now laughing merrily at her own joke. Jo pinched the bridge of her nose in between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand, sighing. She shook her head as the vampire scoffed.

"You really should pay attention to your Sugar Daddy Demon, honey. Gotta learn how to hurt someone. It could come in handy some day," she laughed.

"You really don't know anything about Purgatory, do you? Except that Eve is out?" Jo asked without turning.

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner."

Jo whirled, grabbing up a machete and fluidly taking the vampire's head at her neck. As the head rolled away, she thought briefly back to Crowley's lame joke when he had taken the Alpha Shifter's head in a similar method. She sighed.

"Betcha _that_ hurt you," she noted, tossing the weapon back on top of the other, smaller blades.

"So, _this_ is where you got to," said the familiar, acidic voice of one of Jo's least favorite demons.

"Aw, crap," she said, turning back again.

Nell and Malcolm stood shoulder to shoulder, glaring down the human across from them. Nell had a wide smile on her face, despite the glare, and both were aimed right for Jo.

"Crowley is _beyond_ pissed with you," she said dreamily.

Of course he was. When wasn't he? But Jo knew, specifically why. She had been sent off the reservation, as it were, with one very specific purpose: to find Eve. Or just to find information on Eve. Pretty much, any and all things Eve related was what Jo should have been doing. However, she had been gone for quite some time without any sort of update—due to the fact that Jo had started her own little recon, but the demons didn't need to know that.

"You haven't checked in. Not for a while," Nell continued, that smile still plastered on her stolen face. "And yet… you've remained away. Crowley wants to know what's up."

Jo shrugged, trying to play the situation cool. And trying to weave in a reasonable excuse for having a dead vampire in an abandon home's kitchen. She moved over to the weapons, starting to slowly pack them away.

"I haven't found anything new. I didn't want to get his hopes up," she said, putting just as much fuck-off in as she dared.

The memory of the candle torture was still pretty fresh, and that one seemed to renew the memories of all the previous tortures. She would be lying if she said that she wasn't suddenly thinking twice about _everything_ she said.

"Eve's still on the move, and I can't catch up with her. End of update," Jo added, rolling up the last of her knives—but careful to keep one in her hand.

Malcolm laughed a bit, while Nell only scoffed. The red-haired demon rolled her eyes.

"I think you might actually like being Crowley's little whipping girl. I mean, it seems like you just aim for reasons for him to torture you," she said.

Jo flushed a deep shade of crimson, and Nell's smile shortened to one of pure sadistic glee.

"I mean, after what I've been told, I'll never look at candles the same way ever again."

Jo whirled, her knife up and ready. "Shut. Your. Mouth."

"Or what?" the demon pressed.

Jo hurled the knife, her vision blinded by a flash of red. Nell dodged the assault easily, and Jo readied herself for retaliation. In a blink, Nell was face to face with the huntress, and Jo could feel her breath on her face.

"You've gotten sloppy, Joanna," Nell growled low. "You need to learn to think _before_ you act."

"Back off," Jo snapped.

At that, Nell backed up exactly three steps and turned.

"Malcolm, take off," she barked.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

Nell's eyes flashed, and yet her demon eyes remained in check. Malcolm sighed like a kid sent away without dessert.

"Tell Crowley that I'm with Jo, and that I'll make sure we get back on track looking for the Mother of All," Nell added pointedly.

Malcolm nodded, albeit a little reluctantly. A moment later, he was gone. Jo's brow furrowed as she put her attention on the room's remaining demon.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

Nell crossed her arms, leaning in just a fraction to make double sure that the two were seeing eye to eye.

"I'm going to be straight with you," Nell began. "I hate you. I hate you more than I've ever hated anyone _ever_. And I've been to Hell."

"And I care…?"

Nell held up a finger. "I'm not done. Not only do I hate you… I envy you. Do you know how much that royally _sucks_? To envy the person you hate? I mean, yeah, yeah, I know that one seems to be the reason for the other more often than not, but still… it sucks ass. But, I'm going to be honest here. I'd love to be in your shoes. I'd love to be the one Crowley called on to do his big hunts. His big missions. Do you understand that? I'd give _anything_ to be his toy. But, I'm a power junkie. Well, power junkie by proxy. I like to bask in it, rather than having the stress of having it."

Jo rolled her hand. "I figured all that. You moon over him constantly. Is there a point here?"

Nell grinned. "I like to be obvious sometimes. But, you know what you _don't_ know about me? If I were in your shoes, I'd be smarter about it."

"Well, of course," Jo scoffed. "You'd _want_ it."

Nell wagged a finger—at the end of which was a well-manicured, red-painted nail—at her.

"No, I mean if I was _truly_ in your shoes. I'd be smarter about it. I thought you were a fighter. I thought that's what Jo Harvelle was known for, known for making her mama proud."

Jo threw her hands up in the air. "I've _been_ fighting Crowley. And look at where that's gotten me! Getting a life lesson, apparently, from a prissy-ass demon."

Nell's brow arched slightly. "I'll overlook that just this once. You've been fighting in the wrong ways. You've been stupid about it. Really stupid. Like, unbelievable so. Reckless. Do you have any idea how close Crowley is to killing you? Honestly? Because, I'll tell you, girl to girl… that seems to have become his wet dream."

Jo's lips pursed. She didn't know what to say. This was so strange, Nell trying to share advice… like the two were supposed to be friends or something. So she remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"I know you want to stop them, Crowley and the angel. And I'm not about to offer my help in that. I don't have a death wish. But I will give you some free advice: get smarter."

Jo was speechless. She could only stare. Nell laughed.

"I'll let you think about it. I'm going to do some real recon for Eve. Just remember what I've told you… and, let's just keep it between us girls."

With that she was gone, and Jo felt the breath return to her body. She had only a moment, one fleeting little thing, before the sound of wings filled the air. She whirled, expecting Castiel. But she found only Balthazar instead.

"Fun company you keep," he noted with a playful grin.

It was sort of infectious, and Jo found herself returning it, despite her otherwise crappy mood. The huntress crossed her arms, her head cocked to the right.

"So, what brings you to Middle-of-Nowhere, USA?" she asked.

Balthazar shrugged. "Heard you were in town, Jo. Thought I'd drop by. Oh, and Castiel came to visit me after our first little meeting."

Jo's arms fell to her sides, unsure what to make of such a statement, but Balthazar held up two, surrendering hands.

"No worries," he said. "He just wanted to explain. Apparently, you're supposed to be long dead and gone. And Sam and Dean don't know that you're topside."

The breath left her body again. She hadn't even thought about that at their last meeting. Had she even known that this angel knew the Winchesters? She couldn't remember if it came up or not, but she should have been more careful.

"They can't know, Balthazar. They _can't_ ," Jo said, a healthy serving of pleading rounding out her statements.

The angel chuckled. "Don't freak, love. Cas explained it all to me. How you were brought back without anyone's knowledge, about how he saved you, and about how you don't want to over-complicate that boys' lives. I get it. Mum's the word."

Jo fought down the bile that rose in her throat. So that was the story Castiel had fed his brother? Some big bad demon brought Jo back to life, and then Castiel had swooped in, all savior-like? She pursed her lips, forcing a tight grin to them.

"Thanks," she said.

The angel had not missed the reaction, and Jo knew she had to switch the subject, fast.

"Thank you, by the way. I don't think I've gotten to say that," she said, moving to lean forward on the island counter.

"For what?"

"For giving Castiel the weapons. I don't know how much they've helped me."

Balthazar laughed. "Well, he's still alive after going toe-to-toe with big brother Raphael, so I think that's a plus."

Jo nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad he's got the extra power to last him… I just wish it would've stopped him."

Confusion flickered across the other angel's face. "Stopped him from what?"

Eyes wide, Jo bit at the inside of her lip. That had been a bad, terrible Freudian slip if ever she had heard it. Balthazar had just, not moments earlier, revealed that he knew nothing of Castiel's partnership with Crowley… or that Crowley was even alive. Jo shook her head. Oh how she wanted to tell him. To let him know everything… but something told her that that would do more harm than good. She didn't know Balthazar, not really. There was no way she could even begin to guess what his reaction to such a reveal would be.

"Nothing. It's nothing. I just feel like… like Cas is losing himself. In this stupid war, you know? Making bad calls… calls he would've never made otherwise."

"Well, that's war, sweetheart. A bunch of bad calls that, hopefully, turn out to be lucky."

A sinking feeling that felt like she had swallowed a boulder hit her stomach. Her eyes cast down toward the dirty, vampire-blood stained floor, she sighed.

"I somehow doubt that Cas is going to be so lucky."

"We better hope that he is… we don't want Raphael in charge in Heaven. Trust me."

The both of them went silent for a long moment following this. Jo still had her eyes locked on the floor, but she could see that Balthazar stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Finally, pulling his right hand out, he pointed toward Jo's necklace.

"I recognize that, you know," he said. Her eyes flew up as he nodded, continuing, "Yeah. It bothered me for a little while after we met, but I know it now. I've seen it many times over human history. Nasty piece of work it is. It's always been a demon at its helm, running the poor soul who is wearing it. Always because they couldn't get the person's soul but needing the person under their control. I won't ask who's controlling you."

Jo's heart thudded in her chest, and she kept repeating in her mind, "Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry." She sucked in a deep breath as Balthazar took a step forward.

"Is it the redhead demon that left? Is she the one?" he said. Then, laughing softly, he added, "Sorry. I know I just said I wasn't going to ask, but…"

Jo shook her head. "No. It's not her."

She pushed herself off the counter, grabbing up the roll of weapons and tucking them under one arm.

"I better go," she muttered.

"I could remove it," Balthazar said the moment she put her back to him.

Jo froze, and she was pretty sure her heart had frozen over too.

"It takes something very powerful to remove it if the owner of the necklace refuses to, but an angel happens to fall under that category," he explained.

She didn't doubt him. After all, she knew that Castiel _did_ have the power to remove it. And if one angel had the power… why not another? But Jo remained quiet, refusing to turn and face down the offer.

"Castiel lied to me, didn't he?"

That got her attention. She turned, her brow furrowed.

"He did. He told me that he had saved you… but you're still wearing that necklace. He's… up to something, isn't he?"

She couldn't answer, but Balthazar nodded. Another beat of silence passed.

Her brain was racing. If Balthazar removed the necklace, then she would be free. She could go to Sam and Dean. She could tell them everything. She could get them to help her stop Castiel from making the biggest mistake of his existence. She was moments away from accepting… moments away from doing what she had only dreamed of doing. But before she could force the words out, Nell reappeared.

The demon looked wide-eyed, if not a bit fearful, to see Balthazar there. She kept a step or two behind Jo, her eyes locked on Balthazar even as she talked to the huntress.

"The boss wants us," she said, deliberately cryptic.

Jo grimaced. She smiled ruefully at Balthazar.

"I'd love nothing more than to take you up on your offer," she said. "But I think… I think I need to keep this damn thing on a little while longer. Keep an eye on things, you know?"

He nodded, his eyes reflecting the sadness Jo had been feeling for so long.

"Gotcha. All right. You seem like a girl that knows what's good for herself. I'll see you around, okay? Take care."

With the sound of wings, he was gone, and Jo took a small comfort in knowing that he had meant those final sentiments. Gritting her teeth, she turned to Nell.

"All right. Let's go see 'the boss.'"

Nell grinned. " _That_ , Joanna, is the smartest thing I've seen you do yet."

"Let's go," the huntress responded wearily.

She wanted nothing more than to cry as Nell grabbed her arm and carried her back to Crowley's manor.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Nell and Jo popped up right in the middle of the sitting room. Crowley stood behind his desk, bent over some piece of parchment. He grinned as he looked up at them.

"Ah, here's my two favorite girls," he said, coming around the desk.

Jo could feel Nell beam at this, and she strongly resisted the urge to gag. Crowley smiled at the demon woman.

"Thanks, darling. I'll take it from here," he said.

Nell frowned, but nodded, vanishing in the next second. Now, reclining back on the desk, Crowley sighed.

"So much time without a check in… what _have_ you been up to, Miss Harvelle?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "Honestly? I wanted more information about Purgatory. Information that neither you nor Castiel seem to have or to be willing to give to me. So I was torturing some vampires, and then Balthazar popped in to chat. That's it."

Crowley's eyes widened. "Huh. Honesty. That's new one from you. But you're learning. As I'm sure you've guessed by your confession, I already knew all of that. But good for you, girly. Just for that, though I am royally pissed off that you've been wasting my time, I'm going to skip the torture session and get straight to the point. I need you on a hunt."

He turned around, picking up the parchment, and handed it to Jo. A bad rendering of what looked like a monster tapeworm was the only thing visible on it. She glanced up.

"Who drew this, a five year old?" she asked.

Crowley chuckled. "Sadly, that is Malcolm's handy work. But, if you'll look past the poor art skills, there's a greater importance here. Eve's decided to get creative. And when Eve gets creative, she creates new monsters. And the newer the monster, the more connected they are with their Mother. I hear that Dean has dubbed this thing the Khan Worm. I want one."

Almost as if on cue, Castiel, followed by Malcolm and Nell, arrived in the room. Castiel glared over at the two demons, ultimately ignoring them as he turned to Jo and Crowley.

"There has been another sighting of a man possessed with the worm," the angel said.

"Ah, perfect. I'll be sending my best girl after it, then," Crowley said, moving forward to pat Jo on the back.

Jo was too tired to even pull away. She shook her head, crossing her arms.

"How do I fight this thing? You said it possessed people?" she asked.

"It's weak to electrical currents. The more voltage you hit it with, the more likely it is to crawl out of the body it is in control of."

Jo rolled her eyes.

"Pefect." Turning to Crowley, she added, "Why not send your 'best guy' after it instead?"

Crowley nodded. "A perfectly logical question. The answer being that Samuel Campbell is now roasting in my pit."

Jo's eyes widened, and she said nothing for the longest time. As if Crowley thought she had not comprehended what he had said, he clarified, "He's dead, darling. I've just been to collect on his contract."

Jo shook her head. "What? What happened? What contract? He sold his soul to you?"

"Yes, he did. In order to bring his beloved daughter back to life… but the catch was that he had to help me get into Purgatory first. Nobody reads contracts anymore… isn't that sad? But, as you can see, I'm still not into Purgatory, and he went and got himself shot by one of his grandkids. Sam or Dean… I can't remember which one. And now he's down in Hades, having a grand ol' time," Crowley explained.

Jo's hand wrapped around her stomach as she backed away, feeling ill. Samuel had been working for Crowley because of that? Because he wanted his daughter back? It hit her like a ton of bricks, like she finally understood him. Sure, she still didn't agree with any of his choices… but she understood them now. Sucking in a steadying breath, she looked to Castiel now.

"How did it happen? Why did Sam—Dean, whoever—shoot him?" she asked.

"They believed him possessed by the worm," the angel explained quietly.

Another revelation… the Winchesters had already taken on one of these new monsters. Jo's feeling of despair switched quickly to concern.

"Are they okay? Sam and Dean?"

"Yes," Castiel responded. "However… Rufus also lost his life in the hunt."

"What?" Jo gasped.

Crowley sighed, and he tapped his foot impatiently. But right now, he could go shove it up his ass.

"Bobby became possessed by the worm… he attacked and killed Rufus."

Jo felt her heart break. Rufus? Rufus was dead? Rufus, the hunter that was the whole reason she had made it out alive when War had turned that town on one another? He had been a good hunter, and an even better friend in the short time she had known him. Now she really did want to vomit, and she almost doubled over with the feeling. Beside her, Crowley sighed again.

"This is all very sad and everything," he said, as if bored, "but it's time to go to work, darling. Go fetch me one of these worms."

Jo whirled, shaking her head. "No."

"No?" Crowley asked incredulously.

"I'm not going. Not yet. I'll go when I've had the time to…"

But she left the sentence hanging as she felt a sob well up in her throat. Turning, she stalked out of the sitting room. Before she was out of earshot, she could hear Crowley beginning to call after her, but Castiel stopped him.

"She'll be a better hunter once she's mourned, Crowley," he explained. "Torture won't speed up that process."

"Fine," she heard the King of Hell snap. "Let her have her bloody girl time."

"Meanwhile, I might have a plan to aid us in our endeavor," Castiel began to explain.

Jo was gone before she heard any more. And, at the moment, she didn't care. She reached her room, slamming the door behind her, and threw herself on the bed. Pressing her face into a pillow, she cried until, her body tired, she slept.

Jo awoke with a gasp, a strange dream still haunting her thoughts. She had been in California… on some sort of hunt. And she hadn't been wearing the necklace. Actually, if she thought hard enough, she had never even died. The hellhound had never chomped her, holding tight to her soul. She sat up in her bed in Crowley's manor, gripping the comforter as information flooded through her mind. Then, as she remembered a telephone call from her mother—her living mother, her married-to-Bobby mother—she crawled from the bed and turned on her laptop. As soon as the calendar loaded, she gasped again. It had been almost a week since she had learned of Rufus's and Samuel's deaths. The dream… her brain searched itself, digging up the information about the _Titanic_. Her mother had told her about a hunt Sam and Dean had been on, concerning the fact that the ship had never hit the iceberg… and that it had thrown everything out of wack… and, although this knowledge hadn't been given to her by her dream, she knew whose fault it was.

"Castiel!" she screeched skyward. "Castiel, get down here now!"

The tears were streaming down her face before the angel had even appeared. And before he could speak, she raged at him, beating her fists into his chest, throwing punches and kicks. He took it only partially, letting a little less than half the hits connect.

"How could you?" she cried. "How could you do that to me? To _us_? I was free, damn you… Mom… Mom was alive! How could you do this?"

He grasped her gently by her shoulders, prying her off of him. His eyes were sad, obviously remorseful.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I was simply trying to… to—"

"Win?" Jo snapped.

Castiel looked away. "I've told you before. My winning this civil war in Heaven is of the utmost importance. If I don't win…"

Jo jerked herself free, glaring at him as she backed up an extra step.

"Blow it out your ass, Castiel. You can't do that. You don't have the right to play with human emotion that way. You're not God."

He looked perplexed at her statement. "I've never claimed to be."

Jo growled. "You just can't do this. There won't be much left of me if shit like this keeps happening."

Before he could respond, Crowley appeared in the room, all smiles.

"Well, Cas, that was a fun little vacation you sent us all on this past week," he said. "Shame your ex had to go and ruin it for all of us."

Castiel's confusion deepened. "My ex what?"

"Girlfriend?" Crowley ventured. "Atropos?"

The angel shook his head. "We've never dated. In fact, I've never been in any romantic relationship."

Crowley's grin was cruel. "Ah, that explains the constantly constipated look on your face. Happens when you've got no one but yourself to make time with, if you get my meaning."

Castiel was slowly shaking his head when Jo groaned. Crowley turned to her, mock sympathy written all over his face.

"Ah, what's wrong, darling?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stuff it, Crowley."

He held up his hands. "Fine. Forget I asked."

She crossed her arms. "Look, I'm ready to go after that stupid worm now. Anything to get away."

Crowley laughed as Castiel looked just a bit bashed by that statement. But, at that very moment in time, Jo couldn't give two shakes about Castiel's feelings. After all, it was clear he didn't care about hers either.

"The worm is in Miami. Apparently likes the beach and sun. The man it's possess is named Shane Davis, and he lives in downtown. Malcolm and Nell are both ready to go when you are."

Jo arched a brow at him. "How did you find all of that out?"

"This week wasn't a paid vacation for all of us, you know."

Jo sighed as she walked toward the door of her room.

"Some vacation," she muttered as she left both the angel and demon behind.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Jo often wondered why she had never convinced her mother to move to the beach. She supposed that the bar had been the reason, and all the memories associated with it. But still, Jo loved the beach.

Of course, right now, it was dark, and the particular stretch of sand she was on smelled like dead fish. The Khan Worm had given her, Malcolm, and Nell quite the run around, being much stronger than they had anticipated—and Jo liked to note how neither Castiel nor Crowley had mentioned that to them. But they finally had the man, Shane Davis, cornered underneath a dilapidated dock. All three were armed with various weapons, Jo sporting a sawed off filled with rock salt bullets, and Malcolm and Nell both carrying machetes that gleamed in the half-moon's light. Using the barrel of the gun, she waved the demons into position, indicating that one should take the left while the other should take the right.

The dock was broken and fallen in on the far side of it, making a wall of sorts. The possessed man had run right inside, trapping himself. Or it could be a trap. But what the Khan Worms had in strength, Jo was quickly seeing they lacked in intelligence. That apparently came with being new to the world as a species. The three of them trekked slowly underneath the still upright section of the dock.

A scuffling noise drew Jo's attention to the back left of the dock, and Malcolm turned the flashlight he carried in that direction. Shane—a short man, standing probably at about five foot five, his shaggy blond hair falling into his wild brow eyes—whirled and growled at them.

Jo took aim, acutely aware that this was a man possessed and not a real monster. Her thoughts flew to the story of Bobby's and the Winchesters' first encounter with one of these things. She fired off a round, hitting Shane in the right knee. He cried out, falling forward. But that didn't last long. The cloud of sand he had kicked up had barely had time to settle before he was up again, ready to attack. Nell rushed forward, swinging her blade fast, cutting him at the shoulders, elbows, back of the knees, and his feet. She stopped in a form that Jo had only seen on TV and in movies, her arms thrown back and in a crouch, like she was some sort of karate master. Shane fell down again, and this time, didn't stand up. The demons took the initiative, rushing forward and grabbing him. With the possessed man between them, they vanished. Jo lowered her gun, sighing. A second later, her two demon companions were back.

"You took him to Crowley?" Jo asked.

Nell huffed. "What did you think we were doing here, Jo? Having fun?"

Jo shook her head. "He's just a human possessed. Crowley's going to _torture_ him. He doesn't deserve that."

"Oh, yeah," Malcolm laughed, "I'm sure you and your hunter buddies think of that when you're grilling a demon for information."

Jo bit her lip. She hated it when one of them made a valid point. She shook her head.

"Just take me to Crowley, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Nell groaned, striding forward—the sand making that odd rubbing noise it does as she walked over.

She put her hand on Jo, and in the next moment, they were in the prison. Jo thought it funny that Crowley had not thought to move locations since his fake death. But, why go through all the trouble of moving all those monsters he still had when the Winchesters thought the location secure?

Nell vanished right after dropping her off, and Crowley turned, Shane now freshly strapped into a gurney that was vertical. The King of Hell arched a brow at her, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Shane.

"Nice job. You can go now," he said.

Almost automatically, Jo turned to leave the room, when she paused. This was a rare opportunity. This was the closest Crowley, Jo, _anybody_ , had gotten to Purgatory. And now the King of Hell was about to drag out any little tidbit he could about the place, about Eve, out of the newborn monster. She turned back around.

"Actually," she said as Crowley seemed to be hooking up some jumper cables to a car battery, "I think I'll stay."

He tested the metal on metal, sending golden sparks falling to the floor. Then, laying the two cables aside, he turned, brow arched.

"Did I hear that right? You wanna watch?"

He sounded incredulous, downright disbelieving. But Jo nodded, stepping farther into the room.

"Yeah. I do."

He laughed, stalking toward her.

"My, my… I must be rubbing off on you. You really _are_ beginning to enjoy torture, aren't you, darling?"

He backed her against one of the cement walls to the left of the door, gripping her shoulders. He shoved her back, pinning her there with the entirety of his body. She could feel his breath on her face again as his yellow-green eyes seemed to twinkle darkly at her.

"Maybe you are getting off at this. Get tortured, or watching me torture some icky monster, and then go home and have a little me time. Release some tension," he whispered, grinning broadly.

He leaned in, and Jo turned her face away. He _tsk_ ed, gently cupping her chin and moving her head back so that their eyes met.

"Maybe, if you're good, I'll torture _you_ after this. I think you might like that. And you know what? I might like it too. After all, you made the most interesting noises when I shoved that candle into your mouth. I'd like to find out what _other_ noises you make."

He leaned in, and Jo's head whipped away again. He lost no momentum, pulling his lips down so that they brushed the left side of Jo's neck. He even gripped the chain of her necklace with his teeth, tugging on it. Crowley had his hands pressed up against the wall on either side of her arms, and one leg shoved in between hers. She couldn't move. Her body quaked, adrenaline screaming at her to get away. Her throat felt dry as the demon trailed his lips down her flesh, causing her to shudder. She cast her eyes up at the ceiling, focusing in on the florescent bulb that buzzed above them. Behind Crowley's back, Shane struggled against his restraints, growling softly.

"If you're going to torture him, then might I suggest you get on with it?" she snapped.

Crowley pulled away, smiling at her. "Oh, Jo… you're never any fun. But you do have a point."

He walked away, and Jo tried to keep her sigh of relief as quiet as possible. Crowley picked up the clamps, testing them again with yet another rain of sparks following. Then, hooking a foot underneath of the legs of the silver table, he wheeled it closer to the man.

"Now, here's the deal," the King of Hell said, "you tell me everything my black little heart desires about your mummy and Purgatory, and your death will be virtually painless. But, should you lie to Uncle Crowley, then you get _this_."

With that, Crowley hooked both clamps to Shane, and Jo winced as the man screamed and wailed and seized with the pain. Crowley pulled the cables away after a moment or two, and Jo bit down another relieved sigh. However, Shane stood resolutely, doing nothing but glaring at Crowley. The demon sighed. He hooked the cables up again, letting the electrocution last a tad longer. When he released it, Shane was gasping.

"Fuck… you," he muttered.

Crowley shook his head. "Do you kiss Eve with that mouth?"

He tried again, again going longer than the session before. Jo crossed her arms, digging her nails into her flesh. Her lips pressed together, it was everything she could do not to shout at Crowley to stop. After all, this was no different than torturing a demon, right? Malcolm and Nell had had a point on that. But why did it feel different? Was it because she wanted the information just as much as Crowley? Was it because she felt as if, in this moment, she had way too much in common with the King of Hell? Her grip tightened, her nails biting painfully into her arm.

Crowley tortured it again and again, each session lasting longer than the one before. Finally, after an electrocution that lasted for at least fifteen to twenty minutes, Shane cried out.

"All right!" he screamed, and Crowley tore the clamps away.

"Tell me about Purgatory!" the demon demanded.

Jo's eyes widened as Shane huffed and puffed.

"All right. All right," he gasped.

"What is Eve doing topside? What is she after? How did she get out?" Crowley asked.

"Eve is still creating monsters," the worm revealed. "She is here because of those _you_ have killed. They told her of what you were doing. She became angered. So her faithful servants here brought her over. To stop you. And if she couldn't stop you… then she would punish you."

Jo was intrigued, stepping forward until she was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Crowley. Crowley, for his part, looked rather smug.

"Punish me? Well, if she's so keen on doing so, then where is she? Why hasn't she tried to come after me herself?"

Shane laughed, and it came out as a rasp. "Because there is a far more effective way of doing so. You demons… so crude…"

Crowley's grip tightened on the cables. "And what, pray tell, is this more effective way?"

"The Mother is still creating. Still experimenting. She's creating bigger, better monsters with which to blanket to world with."

Something about those words made Jo's heart thud and her breathing become erratic. Shane was smiling at Crowley now in such a way that it was almost as if he could read the demon's mind.

"She'll turn every single human into one of her children," Shane laughed. "Every one. Let's see how powerful the great King of Hell is when all the souls of Earth go to her."

No Hell. While that sounded like a good thing without much thought added to it, Jo knew that it couldn't happen. No Hell meant a world covered in powerful monsters created by the Mother of All, and as much as she didn't want Crowley to reach Purgatory… she didn't want Eve in control of Earth either.

The worm laughed again. "I'm only the beginning."

With that, Crowley growled, attached the clamps to the worm, and watched until the black, slimy slug thing crawled out of Shane Davis's ear. It hit the floor with a very wet _splat_ and curled into itself. A second later, it stretched back out, becoming nothing but a puddle of goo, leaving Shane to moan. Jo shook her head.

"You'd lose your position as King of Hell. Hell would be gone if Eve gets all the souls, right?" she asked.

"You would do to _shut your mouth_ right about now, Joanna," Crowley snapped at her, tossing the cables unceremoniously back onto the table.

Jo knew he was right. She could almost feel the anger rolling off of him, but she just couldn't stop. Her mind was racing, thinking of what this would mean for everyone should Eve succeed. She had known that the Mother of All was dangerous… but she had greatly underestimated just how much.

"Cas would lose the war in Heaven… and Heaven wouldn't really have a place either, would it?" she muttered, a vain attempt at keeping the thought to herself as much as it would allow her. "Monsters would control _everything_."

"Shut it," Crowley warned.

But Jo shook her head, looking up at the demon. "I knew it. I knew Purgatory was nothing but trouble. What were you thinking, Crowley?"

That was the last straw. Growling to the point of yelling, Crowley grabbed up a machete from the same table the battery set upon. Jo's eyes widened, and she cried out for him to stop. But she was too late. In one fell swoop, he took Shane's head, letting it drop to the floor.

"No!" Jo shouted.

Crowley brandished the machete at her. "I told you to be quiet. Not my fault if you're too stupid to listen."

The rage Jo had been doing fairly well at controlling lately broke free, and she took several deliberate steps toward Crowley.

"You… you're a monster. And an idiot. Purgatory is too much for you to handle, and Eve is doing nothing but making you look like… like an impotent fool!"

His eyes flashed, and he snapped his fingers. The necklace—unused for so long now—roared to life, and Jo hit the cement floor hard, screaming and writhing in pain. Her body on fire, she could do nothing but squirm and thrash in place as Crowley crouched down beside her.

"I'll be leaving this going while I make my point," he said.

Tears streamed down Jo's face, and again she wondered how they didn't turn to steam after immediately touching her flesh. Her throat felt raw, and she had no words to protest as Crowley brought the machete down, making a gash down her left side. She screamed with the new pain, her body throwing itself away from it with little conscious effort. She couldn't breathe. It was too much. She wondered if she was turning blue. Meanwhile, above her, Crowley swung the machete at her again, gashing her right side. The tip of the blade caught her cheek on the way by, and she could feel the blood mingling with her tears.

"Pl-ease," she managed, choking as she tried to draw in air.

Crowley laughed. "You know, 'please' doesn't always work. I know that we teach children that it does, but even they learn soon enough that it doesn't."

Jo's whole body ached as she continued to scream against the pain of the necklace. She wanted it to stop. She needed it to… or else, she was sure that she was going to die. Her lungs burned, and she vaguely wondered how her mouth seemed to continue to produce the screams that it did. Crowley took another few swipes at her with the blade, hitting her in spots to inflict pain, but not permanent damage.

"You know what I wish?" he said after a moment. "I wish I had that black candle. You know the one. Oh, the things I could do with that thing. And the memories it would inflict? Well, when it comes to a situation like that, no other torture method can compare."

Jo was flipped onto her stomach now, and somehow she had managed to get herself to face the door. She forced her hands to listen to her, her vision blurring, and she flattened them onto the ground. Putting every ounce of strength she could muster into it, she pulled herself along the ground toward the exit as if her legs didn't work. Crowley howled with laughter above her, but she didn't care. He'd humiliated her enough. She wasn't going to have him do it again.

"Okay, okay, I just can't take it anymore. Besides, I think you've gotten my point," he said, snapping his fingers.

The pain of the necklace vanished, but the pain of the cuts remained. She hissed and whined with the sting of it. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"You have no idea how therapeutic it is to torture someone when you're angry. The upside to being a demon, I suppose," he mused. With a sigh, he tossed the machete back onto the table and added, "I'm sending you home, Joanna. I'll fetch you when you're needed again."

Jo gasped, still crying, and rested her forehead on the floor. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and a second later, her forehead was on carpet. She looked up, finding herself alone in her room, and let all the sobs out.

Several days had passed, and Jo was mostly healed now. Her cuts were scabbing over, and the ache in her bones had finally subsided. She was even able to shower instead of taking a bath because she could finally hold herself upright for longer than a few moments. Now, as she stepped out of the shower feeling like a new woman, she heard the usual announcement of wings in the adjoining room. She dressed and exited the bathroom to find Castiel standing at the foot of her bed.

"Sam and Dean have procured a way to kill Eve," he said by way of greeting.

Jo smiled. "Good. But… I thought you and Crowley wanted her alive."

Castiel shrugged. "Which is exactly my problem. I obviously cannot tell Sam and Dean that I wish for Eve to remain living. So all I can do is try to prevent her death at their hands. But they are making this… very difficult."

He paused here, his eyes drifting away from Jo. Her head cocked to the side, waiting as he seemed to be readying himself for something. Finally, his lips slightly parted, he turned back to her.

"I wanted to ask you… considering the importance of my winning this war… would you consider revealing your existence to the Winchesters? If they knew what killing Eve might hold in store for you, they might reconsider."

Jo scoffed. "You know, sometimes, I just can't believe you. I'd rather go to Hell than do that. In fact, you can go to Hell."

Castiel sighed. "I had supposed that that would be your answer. But I thought I would ask. I'll be joining them in the final hunt for the Mother of All."

"Good luck. Hope you kill her real good," Jo grinned.

Castiel sighed again and left. And, for the next few hours, she was rather stationary at the manor. Crowley had not called on her for some time, and other than Castiel's visit, she had had no updates on Eve.

A few hours later, however, she did get wind from Malcolm and Nell that those new monsters that the worm had promised were now on the scene… and that Castiel had even tortured one or two of them. Another hour passed rather uneventfully, before Crowley finally appeared in her room.

"Got a job for you, doll," he said.

"You want me to go after those monsters that Nell and Malcolm were telling me about?" she asked, crawling off her bed, where she was doing nothing more but enjoying a book.

"Hold your horses. That's where Castiel is, and he's got it handled… along with those Winchesters. No, two little boys made it out of the town alive… and I have it on good authority that they were not exactly human anymore."

Jo's brow arched. "So, you don't want me going after Eve? Instead, you want me to go after a couple of kids?"

"Oh, I'm not worried about Eve. I suspect she'll be mine by nightfall. But I want to examine these so-called super monsters. They don't have to be alive… I just want them."

Going after kids—monsters or not—didn't sit well with Jo. But… they were still dangerous. She nodded.

"Fine. Malcolm and Nell will be backing me up, right?"

He smiled, nodding. "Of course. They're waiting for you outside."

Jo mock-saluted him. "Yes, sir."

"Ooh," he said as she walked past him. "I like that."

Just as Crowley had said, she found her two demon companions waiting for her just outside the manor's front doors. Nell seemed rather happy to be of use, while Malcolm seemed almost bored with this mission.

"Kids, really?" he muttered as Nell grabbed Jo.

They arrived moments later in a darkened, suburban home. The living room seemed almost pristine, pictures of smiling faces on every wall. Malcolm handed Jo a weapon, a machete—which made her shudder. Nell, also brandishing a machete, motioned toward the kitchen, where the sound of crashes could be heard. The three of them walked as silently as possible through the house, pausing just outside of the room.

"I can smell you," said a voice that sounded just like a prepubescent boy.

"Come on out. Our uncle wasn't nearly filling enough," said an older boy.

The demons and Jo exchanged a look just before they turned the corner. The two boys were dark haired, and their mouths were stained red. They smiled.

"Fresh meat," the youngest said.

The eldest charged at them as if this had been a battle cry. Jo ducked the assault, leaving Malcolm and Nell to deal with him. They took the fight out of the small, blue and white tiled room as Jo stared down the remaining boy.

"What's your name?" the boy asked.

Her grip tightened on her blade. She had thought this was going to be hard, fighting children. But there was something… dark about this boy. Definitely something inhuman, like he wouldn't blink twice at tearing anything or anybody to shreds for his own amusement.

"Jo," she said.

"I'm Ryan," he said, sounding chipper. "Is that blade made of silver?"

Jo shrugged, it didn't go unnoticed that the boy took the smallest of steps toward her.

"I don't know," she answered.

He smiled. "Doesn't matter anyway. Eve made sure none of that usual crap could hurt us."

He snarled, revealing sharpened teeth not too much unlike those of a vampire's. Jo grinned bitterly.

"I figured."

Ryan cocked his head. "And you still wanna fight me?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"You won't win."

"You don't know that."

A loud crash took place in the small hall behind Jo, and she heard the door that most likely led to a basement open, followed by the sound of crashing bodies down wooden stairs. She huffed.

"You don't know that."

Ryan shrugged. "Whatever."

He lunged at her, and Jo ducked, moving up behind him. He whirled, moving so fast that he seemed to almost blur. Jo picked up the nearest thing she could find—a rooster-shaped cookie jar—and hurled it at the boy. He batted it back at her, shattering the ceramic thing. He tried for her again, and she swung the blade, catching his arm. He stopped, looking at the blood already soaking into his jacket.

"That hurt," he said curiously.

"Nothing's invulnerable," Jo noted.

Jo heard a cry coming from the basement, and Ryan's eyes widened.

"Joe?" he called, and it took Jo a moment to realize he was calling for his brother, not her. He growled before snarling at her, "You're all gonna pay!"

He tried for her again, but she was ready.

"Incoming!" she shouted, catching him by the shoulders.

She allowed the force of his lunge to throw her backward into the hall, and the moment she landed, she tossed him down the dark stairs. She was back on her feet in a minute, following after.

Ryan landed with a _thud_ at Malcolm and Nell's feet, and he seemed to be extra pissed as his gaze fell upon his brother's body… and head several feet away from the rest of him.

"Joe!" he cried.

Jo, meanwhile, ran down the stairs as Ryan struck out, sending Malcolm and Nell flying to opposite corners of the room. He turned, claws on his hands as he struck at Jo too. But she backed out of it, and when he came at her again, she was ready. She lifted her bladed, aimed for the boy's neck, and swung. Like Joe, Ryan fell in two pieces. And not five seconds later, she heard wings fluttering on the floor above. Eyes wide, Jo hissed into the darkness, "Shit. Leave, Malcolm, Nell."

"But we've gotta get the bodies," Malcolm responded.

"You can come back for them. I swear. Just go, hurry!"

She could hear footsteps nearing the basement's door, and she threw herself behind a shadow-hidden beam. She assumed that Malcolm and Nell were already gone. Risking a lot, she peeked out from her hiding spot, just enough to catch a glimpse of Dean Winchester, sighing as he found the bodies of Joe and Ryan. Shaking his head, the eldest Winchester turned and went back upstairs. But he had left the door open, and his, Sam's, Bobby's, and Castiel's voices drifted down to Jo easily.

He was telling them about how sulfur was there, and that Eve could be right. That Crowley could be alive still. They mentioned to Castiel that they found that odd, that he had burned Crowley's bones. Saying that he would look into, the angel flew away with another sound of wings. What followed shocked Jo beyond words.

Sam and Bobby were talking to Dean… about whether they could still trust Cas. They mentioned that it was a little _too_ odd that this had happened. But Dean was defending Cas, saying that what they were proposing was too out of bounds. Jo's heart twanged.

Here she was, only feet away… She knew everything. All of the secrets, all of what Castiel was doing. Her hand rose to the necklace, grasping the heart jewel. So close… but she couldn't say a damned thing. She leaned back around the beam and sighed.


	20. Chapter Twenty

It hadn't been long after Sam, Bobby, and Dean had left that Malcolm and Nell had arrived once more and taken up the bodies—including their heads—of Ryan and Joe. They had returned for Jo, dropping her off at the manor. Tired beyond reason, Jo had gone immediately to sleep. She had awoken the next morning to the knowledge that Eve was dead, and that Crowley had her body. And Jo had smiled a bit when she had learned the next bit, that the remains of the Mother of All had told Crowley nothing of how to access Purgatory.

Now, several hours into the day, a certain realization had met Jo. There were no more hunts left. None. The grand prizes—the Alphas, Eve—were all dead or gone. Her hand floated to her necklace, and she wondered what this meant for her. After all, the only reason Crowley had kept her around for so long had to do with these hunts… but what need is there for a hunter when the prey is all gone? One thing, however, was for sure. She had to get this damned object off her neck before Crowley had a chance to show her his plans. Because something told her that Castiel's protection might not be enough… even if she still had it.

The King of Hell was not currently in his manor. Instead, he was at the prison, examining probably Eve or one of the kids. If for no other reason than restlessness, Jo found herself heading for the prison just as the sun began to set, after an extra-long shower done mostly to kill time. She didn't have to think too hard on where Crowley had stored himself… the examination room was the clear choice.

She walked the halls silently, noticing that most of the monsters had been cleared out now. Her mind drifted to the shifter babies, and she wondered if she could have done more to help them… like she had helped that one. Perhaps Castiel had done something about it. But, to Jo's own chagrin, she wasn't sure if that made her feel any better.

She entered the examination room just as Crowley was stepping back from Eve's body, hands on his hips. He shook his head, sighing.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

He seemed surprised to see her, and he began to remove his blood and muck stained apron.

"Can you believe this?" he said, balling up the plastic apron and chucking it over his head. "The one thing I asked that bloody angel not to do—don't kill Eve—and yet here we are. I'm ankle deep in Mother of All, and Castiel is off somewhere playing buddy-buddy with those stupid Winchesters. Un-friggin-believable."

"Didn't find anything out?" she said, biting down her grin.

Crowley glared at her. "You know, being a smug little bitch is not a good look on you."

"Likewise," she quipped.

He grinned at that, taking a dangerous step forward. "You know what I really need? I need a native of Purgatory. A living one, at that. Someone who has been here who might be a lot more pliable when it comes to obtaining information."

Jo didn't say anything. She had thought that had been the idea behind Eve… and that had gone the way so many others of the King of Hell's plans. Crowley groaned, turning his full attention onto Jo.

"I'm stuck. I can't move forward, nor can I move back, of course. Not until my pretty angel brings me more information. And it's so… _aggravating_."

He snapped his fingers, and the necklace shook Jo's body and threw her to the floor. She screamed, her nails clawing at the cement. Crowley snapped his fingers again, a blissful smile on his face.

"That's a little better," he said.

"Bastard," Jo spat the moment she caught her breath. "I didn't do anything!"

"Very true," Crowley noted. "And if you were a dog, this would be a poor training strategy. However, you're not. A bitch, yes, but not a dog. So, I'm going to take out my frustrations on you, okay?"

He snapped his fingers again, and Jo could see his eyes light up as she screamed and writhed on the ground. She was beginning to have feeling again of being out of air and unable of bringing it in when he snapped his fingers to stop the pain. She gasped, and Crowley chuckled.

"You're so much fun," he noted. "I can't explain it… but I think I like torturing you the best."

"Fuck off," Jo snapped.

Crowley lifted his hand, grinning from ear to ear, about to unleash the necklace upon her again. However, just before he could, a demon Jo didn't recognize appeared in the room.

"Problem, boss," he said, looking a bit wiry and panicked.

"And that would be?" Crowley asked leisurely.

"The Winchesters."

"Of course," the King of Hell groaned. "What is it this time?"

"They have Castiel trapped in a ring of Holy Fire. They know. They know about the angel working with you."

Crowley chuckled. "Well, we all knew this day would come. Gather me up some demons without meatsuits, okay?"

The demon nodded and vanished. Crowley glanced down at Jo.

"Sorry to torture and run, but I do believe our little buddy needs some saving. Kisses."

With that, Crowley gathered his suit's jacket and his long coat and strolled out of the room. It was several long moments before she found the strength in her legs to stand. But stand she did… and then she didn't move. The Winchesters knew. Sam and Dean _knew_ about Castiel's betrayal. She couldn't imagine… couldn't imagine what they were thinking. How they felt. Would they kill Cas? Was that the plan with the fire? Jo pursed her lips. What was going to happen now?

Slowly, she made her way out of the examination room, but the manor was not her destination. Lost in thought, she had no idea where her feet were carrying her. Her mind seemed to be ping-pong-ing back and forth between different worst-case scenarios of what could be happening with Castiel at the moment. And it shocked her to discovered that even after all the angel had done to piss her off more than she would have ever thought possible… she still didn't want him dead. She was worried about _him_ just as much as she was worried about how the Winchesters were taking this news.

Finally, looking up and forcing herself out of her thoughts, she came across an open, empty cell. She wondered vaguely if this was the one, the one she had woken in when this had all begun. She entered the room, sitting down on the chilly metal bed—still without a cot. She rested her hands on her knees, fisting her hands around the loose denim of her jeans and relaxing them over and over again. Then, after several minutes, she heard the familiar sound of Castiel's arrival.

She turned to stare up at him as he leaned on the bars of the cell. He looked sad, sadder than she had ever seen him. She didn't know if angels cried, but she thought that Castiel, in this moment, might. He staggered farther into the cell, not stopping until he reached the brick wall across from the entrance. He leaned his forehead upon it, sighing.

"I know," Jo whispered. "I know about Sam and Dean finding out."

Cas closed his eyes, sighing. Jo wanted to apologize, to tell him that it was all going to be okay. But she wasn't sorry that they knew. And she didn't know if it was going to be all right. And there had been enough lies between friends.

"I prayed," he said, his gravelly voice low.

He turned and leaned up against the wall once more. His eyes slid open and landed on Jo.

"I went to a quiet place, and I sought revelation from Our Father. I told Him everything. Everything I had done. Everything that I planned to do."

Jo stood, but she remained silent. Castiel sighed again, and Jo moved forward.

"I asked for a sign," the angel explained. "I asked Him to give me a sign, if I was doing the right thing. I told Him that if I didn't get a sign, that I was going to do… what I had to. And he didn't. Not one peep from Him. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe Our Father _is_ nothing more than a bully with a magnifying glass."

Jo closed the distance, and she raised a hand to rest on his cheek. He stared down at her, clearly surprised at her tenderness. But she was glad that he was okay, physically. And she couldn't bear to see him in such emotional pain now.

"Maybe," she said, pausing for a moment. "Maybe _I'm_ the sign."

Castiel narrowed his gaze at her, his own hands rising to rest on her shoulders. In a flash, he pulled her forward, covering his mouth with hers. He allowed his tongue to gently pry her lips apart, deepening the kiss. Jo didn't fight it, finding her body filling with a pleasant tingle. After several blissful moments, he broke the kiss, holding her at arm's length.

She didn't say anything. Instead, the two simply stared at one another, as if trying to memorize each other's face. Cas's right hand rose, and his fingers traced the length of chain about Jo's neck. Her heart fluttered, and for one fleeting moment, she hoped that he was finally going to remove it. But his hands dropped once more to her shoulders, and he pushed off the over-shirt she wore. It fell in a heap to the floor as he pressed his body against hers, and Jo did the same to his coat. His suit jacket and tie followed as he wrapped his arms about her waist. He broke away, tugging her t-shirt up over her head as she planted kisses on his neck in between the move. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, but she had it off soon enough, followed by the belt around his waist.

"I'm… uncertain—" he began, speaking at a whisper as he peppered her face with kisses.

"Ssh," she said. "I'll show you."

The rest of their clothing removed, they moved to the bed, Jo jumping at the coldness of the metal on her bare flesh. Castiel lay on top of her, his body lean and lightly muscled. She traced her fingers over his chest, feeling his growing erection on her leg. He glanced down at it, obviously confused as to why this body part was reacting in such a way. Jo wanted to laugh, but she stopped, not wanting him to feel bad. Gently, she turned him over, straddling him. She leaned forward, trailing kisses down his chest until she arrived at his standing member. She glanced up at him from underneath her eyelashes and blinked coyly at him.

"You've never done this?" she asked, knowing the truth but still seeking confirmation.

He shook his head, looking nervous. It was kind of adorable. She smiled at him.

"Then I want to do something for you," she said, dropping herself lower.

She took his manhood into her mouth, stroking it with her tongue as she moved it in and out. Briefly, her brain flashed to that horrible night when Crowley had tortured her with the candle… but then that thought melted away as the sounds of Castiel's pleasurable moaning filled the cells. Jo cupped her hands underneath his testicles, rubbing them gently as she continued her ministrations on his member. His hands gripped the sides of the bed, and Jo thought she heard metal crunch. She continued on for several more minutes before she finally pulled herself away, smiling down at him.

"Did you enjoy that?" she asked.

He nodded. Then, slowly, shyly, his fingers began to trace up her body. He paused just underneath her breasts, and she could see the question in his eyes. She nodded, and he cupped them both, rubbing his fingers across her nipples. She moaned, her eyes half-closing. That seemed to embolden him as his reached up and pulled her down, kissing and nipping her neck. She could feel the head of his manhood touching at her entrance, and a moment later, he had their positions reversed. Her eyes opened wide, surprised by his sudden bravery.

"Jo," he whispered, gently shoving himself inside her wet and ready folds.

She gasped, pleased by the filled feeling that his member gave her. He began to move slowly, thrusting in and out of her while she moaned his name and encouraged him on. It didn't take long before he had caught on, letting his vessel's instincts take over. He increased his speed, going faster and faster and stopping just short of actually hurting her. She could feel her body warming as she arched into him.

"I'm close," she moaned. "Please don't stop."

He bent forward, kissing her neck as he moaned into her skin. Heat pooled in Jo's stomach until it finally burst forward, covering his member in her slickness and tingling within her from head to toe. If Castiel seemed uncertain of this reaction, he didn't show it. Instead, he continued to thrust in and out of her until he found his own pleasure. He came with a cry, his eyes sliding shut. He shuddered, falling forward on top of her as he finished. He lay there for a moment before he moved to squeeze onto the bed beside her.

Her eyes heavy, she yawned and snuggled into the nook of his body. She dozed for maybe a moment, and when she jumped back into wakefulness for just a second, she noted that Castiel had pulled his coat over the both of them. She sighed, smiling, and thought about how the single item still on her body—the necklace—suddenly didn't feel so heavy anymore. Before long, she was asleep, feeling much more relaxed than she had been since being resurrected.

In the shadows outside of the cell, Crowley growled as he watched Jo fall asleep in the angel's arms. He balled his hands into fists and glared.

How dare she? His little slave thought she could achieve her freedom by whoring about with the _angel_? This was an attempt at mutiny, and it would not stand. He had tried, all these long months, to get it into the stupid girl's head that she did nothing without his permission. That when he said, "jump," all she should reply is, "How high?" But for all of his torture, all of the pain, all of the humiliation… the lesson hadn't taken. Well, then, fine. She'd be getting her final one, then. And soon enough.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags, people!

Jo groaned pleasantly, her eyes fluttering open. She was in bed, fully dressed—sans socks and shoes—and under the covers in Crowley's manor. She stretched, a smile spreading across her face. It was good to know that for all that Castiel _didn't_ know about human relations that he still understood how to be a gentleman in such a situation. She crawled out of bed, digging some fresh clothes out of the dresser, and headed for the shower. Her relaxation lasted until the end of the hot shower, right up until the moment she wiped off the steamy mirror to dry her hair and caught sight of the heart necklace. Then, in a flash, it came crashing down on her.

Eve was dead. The alphas were of no more use. For all intents and purposes, Crowley didn't need Jo anymore. Well, there was always the fact that the Winchesters knew of his faked death now… but something told her that he was beyond using her over Sam and Dean's heads. Shaking her head, she plugged in the hair dryer and finished getting dried and dressed.

As if her wondering had pierced some sort of psychic level of existence, she emerged to find Crowley sitting on the edge of the bed facing the door of the bathroom. He had a grin on his face that made her skin crawl, but she tried to play it off. She crossed her arms, arching a brow at the King of Hell.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"You mean, what am I doing at my home?" he replied.

Jo growled softly. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Ah," Crowley said, sliding off the bed to his feet. "You mean, what am I doing here, talking to you. Well, I've just come to have a little chat about your current status in my eyes. As you can probably guess… you're useless to me now. Eve is dead and gone, and Castiel, not but a handful of hours ago, informed me that there is, indeed, a living former-Purgatory resident alive and well on this plane of existence. He's gone to look for her location now, which means that I really do have no need of you now."

A living Purgatory resident? Jo bit her lip. Castiel had left her here in the room in order to continue his hunt for access to that place? She wasn't one to be too easily offended by anything—after all, all the hunters she had ever slept with had pretty much just used her to get off. But Castiel? He was supposed to be different. He was an angel, for God's sake.

Crowley eyed her carefully, watching for any sort of twitch that might indicate her discomfort with this knowledge. But Jo only sighed.

"That's not true. The part about me being useless to you. If it was true, I'd be dead already."

She knew it was the truth, but a part of her wondered whether it was still just a bluff. However, the demon chuckled, nodding once.

"You've got me there, darling. Actually, I did lie to you just then. I found a new purpose for you to remain in my service: insurance."

Jo's gaze narrowed as the demon stalked closer to her.

"What are you talking about, Crowley?"

He lifted a single finger, tilting it forward until he lightly tapped on the heart pendant of her necklace.

"I saw what you were doing last night. Or rather, who. I saw you with our mutual angel friend," he said.

Jo paled. Her stomach twisted and turned, and she felt a little sick. She wrapped her arms about her midsection as her mouth contorted, trying to work past the disgust she felt to form words. She hated the first question that flew to her mind, but it felt important to her somehow. As it was, it was also the first question she allowed to escape her mouth.

"Did you… _watch_?" she asked, breathless.

Crowley's green eyes twinkled. "Yes, I did catch most of the show. I only missed the previews."

"You're sick," she spat.

In a flash, his demeanor changed. He closed the distance between the two of them, trapping her up against the wall beside the bathroom door. He growled at her, pinning her between his two arms as he leaned in to menace at her.

"No, my pet, _you're_ the one who's sick, mentally, if you think cozying up to that angel will save you. If you think that becoming his little whore will save you from me!"

Jo pressed her back up against the wall as hard as possible, but she refused to look away from the King of Hell. She leaned her neck forward, leaving only a few inches between her face and his.

"Then kill me," she whispered. "If you have no real use for me, and if you're sure that Castiel won't try to save me, then do it. There's nothing stopping you. And I know that's been your plan all along. Use me until you're done, and then kill me and send me careening into Hell because of this stupid necklace. You've never had any intention of releasing me from it."

He shrugged. "You have a point there, lovely. But you see, thing is, I don't trust that angel. Yes, sure, he's an angel. But he seems a bit more… enterprising as of late. So with your renewed purpose in mind, plus the fact that I've had just so much fun torturing you over these past few months, I've revised my plan. I'm nothing if not adaptable."

Jo shook her head. "I'll kill myself before I let you use me against Castiel."

"I'd just bring you back. Again and again and again."

Crying out in frustration, Jo kicked out at the demon, catching his knee and causing him to fall back a few paces. She threw a right hook, and he ducked it. She tried to take advantage of this brief blind spot on his part to run, her eyes locked on the closed door of her bedroom. But his arms wrapped about her waist, and he flung her over onto the bed. In a blink, he straddled her, his hands pressed down on her collarbone. She kicked and struggled, and he only laughed down at her.

"It's time for your final lesson, Joanna. The one you've been too _thick_ these past months to catch on to. You're _mine_. Mine to control, mine to use. I'm going to make you understand this," Crowley said, running one his hands up to grasp her about the throat. "I'll make you learn this in a way that only a girl like you would understand."

With that, he leaned forward, forcing his mouth against hers. Jo clamped her lips shut, but he pried his tongue in, forcing them open. He invaded her mouth, exploring it at his leisure while she screamed in protest. She tried to buck him off of her, but he was heavy. Her hands, being unrestricted, flew up, trying to claw him into giving up. Finally, he pulled back and sighed.

"There's only two choices here for you," he said, snapping his fingers.

The pain of the necklace overtook her, and she tried to keep it contained. She tried to take it, knowing that it would be better than what Crowley was trying to do. The fire filled her, digging its way down to her very core. She bit her lip so hard that she felt her teeth break through the tender flesh, all in an attempt not to scream.

"Beg me to stop the necklace," Crowley whispered, placing his lips right next to her ear. "Tell me you can't take it, and I'll give you something _much_ more pleasant instead."

She was at the point of suffocating again, and his weight atop her was not helping. She tried to breathe in, and she was sure that her lungs were going through the motions. But still, they burned, and she could feel the screams she was trying to contain beginning to leak out in high-pitched whines.

"Ooh, I like that noise best of all, I think," Crowley chuckled. "Beg me, Joanna. You know I like that too."

She could do this. She kept telling herself that. She could take the pain over anything else. She wouldn't give Crowley the satisfaction of knowing that the rape—the perversion of her body—would be the easier option. But after what felt like an eternity, she could feel tears streaming from her eyes. She gasped, sobbing.

"Please, please stop," she cried. "I can't take it. Please!"

"That's a good girl," Crowley said, stopping the necklace.

He gave her a moment to catch her breath, to swallow down the sobs. Then, as her head lolled back around to gazing up at him, he smiled.

"If you don't want the necklace again, _don't_ close your eyes. I won't have you thinking of _him_ while I fuck you," he said, leaning forward once more.

He bent over her, his teeth catching her neck as she gasped. She placed the heels of her hands against his shoulders, trying her best not to push—because she knew that would get her the necklace again too. The result of which looked as if he was something slimy and icky that she didn't want to touch, but had to for some reason.

He began to tear at her clothing, stripping off each piece with little regard to the way the fabric burned as it was pulled from her body. His lips were covering her now, her neck, her lips, her chest. He lowered himself on her, taking on of her breast into his mouth and sucking at her nipple. Jo made a noise between a whine and a groan, and he laughed. His hands were just as relentless as his mouth, kneading her other breast and running the length of her body. Her flesh prickled unpleasantly, and all she wanted to do was be somewhere else. Her eyes closed, for just a moment, and suddenly, she felt his hand on her neck, making the chain dig into her flesh.

"I told you not to close your eyes," he said.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He grinned. He began to undress himself, and it seemed to take only a second before his clothing joined hers on the floor. His erect member dug into her thigh as he continued to cover her with bites and kisses, his hands grabbing and touching wherever they pleased.

"Stop," she murmured. "Please."

He moved down her body, and she could feel the head of his manhood at her entrance. He grinned as he wetted two of his fingers, bringing them down to press gently at her folds. She squirmed, moaning and trying to scurry away. But one hand held her down against the mattress as he shoved the fingers deep inside of her. She screamed at the invasion, and that seemed to spur the demon on. He thrust them deep inside, not caring for his strength or how her body ached the faster he moved.

Her body, meanwhile, seemed to be betraying her. She could feel that familiar heat rising within her, the one not associated with the necklace, and fresh tears rolled down. Crowley laughed at her again.

"Relax, or this will just continue to hurt," he murmured, going faster and faster with his hand.

He was trying to make her come… make her enjoy it. She gritted her teeth, forcing her mind elsewhere. Careful to keep her eyes open, she still found her thoughts drifting to Castiel. She thought of the night before and how gentle, caring, and wonderful this same act had been with him. Crowley removed his fingers, and, suddenly, an odd feeling washed over Jo. It was like… like she wasn't alone with this horrible monster. She could almost imagine light fingertips—caring touches—trailing down her body. A blissful smile spread across her lips, and Crowley arched a brow at her.

Her eyes drifted to her right, where she imagined him to be standing. Because she knew Castiel was there with her now. It felt too… right. Too soothing now. Her eyes moved back to Crowley, who seemed to have caught on. He growled, shoving his hardened member inside of her. She gasped, crying out as he thrust in and out of her as hard as he could without actually breaking her. Her whole nether region ached inside and out from the assault, and tears threatened to spill over once more. However, those gentle caresses she had been feeling from invisible hands trailed lower, finding and stopping over that precious bundle of nerves at the top of her folds. She moaned and arched her back, meeting not Crowley's thrusts, but Castiel's well-placed hand. Growling, Crowley pounded into her, his own eyes drifting to the right. He flashed the wall—or so it would seem to any other observer—a wicked grin as he continued to fuck Jo as hard as possible.

Heat pooled as Jo felt Castiel's hand gaining speed. She was close to finishing, and it was almost like she couldn't even feel Crowley anymore. Like it was just her and Cas again in that chilly cell in the prison. She came with a cry, forcing her hands to wrap around the sheets of the bed rather than Crowley. And, for good measure, she locked eyes with the demon… and cried Castiel's name.

Crowley's pounding gained a renewed force as he leaned over her, whispering, "Yell his name all you want… I'm the one who's about to come inside of you."

He moaned as he wound a hand in her hair, and if his tightening member was any indication, he wasn't lying about how close he was. Jo flashed him a cruel grin.

"Do whatever you want to me," she snapped. "But your number's almost up. Sam and Dean have defeated every monster they've faced. And Castiel helped them avert the Apocalypse. It's only a matter of time before they gank your ass too."

Crowley growled, wrapping a hand about her throat as he thrust on and on inside of her. Her vision was growing fuzzy around the edges as he began to restrict her breathing. She clawed at his hand, but he ignored her, his eyes sliding closed. Moments later, when Jo's grip on his arm was beginning to slack, Crowley cried out, finishing inside of her. He let go of her throat, pulling back. Unable to regain enough oxygen fast enough, Jo began to slip out of consciousness… moaning Castiel's name as she went.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Jo didn't know how long she'd been unconscious. She didn't figure it had been long, since when she opened her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of Crowley buttoning up his silk shirt. He didn't so much as acknowledge her as she sat up. He grabbed up his tie, putting it about his neck as the usual sound of wings filled the room. That was when Crowley smiled, the very picture of smug.

"Why, hello, Castiel," he said, pulling on the jacket to his expensive suit.

Jo pulled the covers of the bed up over her chest as she felt the angel's eyes fall upon her. He seemed to be examining her, trying to figure out if she was injured. Once he seemed to have realized that no physical damage had been taken, his eyes softened. He wanted to know if she was all right emotionally. But Crowley's gaze darting between the two of them kept him silent, and Jo remained sitting just as silently, lips tight.

"I had to give her a more lasting lesson," the demon said by way of explanation.

His smile widened as Castiel averted his gaze. Castiel only shook his head, not looking at Crowley or Jo when he spoke.

"I've captured the creature from Purgatory. She's in the prison," he explained.

Crowley clapped his hands, rubbing them together. "Now _this_ is a good day. Let's find ourselves Purgatory, my fine feathered friend."

Castiel nodded, and Crowley vanished. Jo let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. She looked over at Castiel, who still would not meet her gaze. He made some sort of odd motion, as if he was unsure of what to do with his hands. But Jo knew that he meant to indicate that he was about to follow after Crowley. Holding up a hand, she called him to a stop.

"Was it you?" she asked, her tongue wetting her dried lips. "Was it really you, in the room with me? With—"

But she didn't want to say "us," because that sounded too romantic. As if she had participated willingly. So, she left the sentence hanging, hoping that Castiel would understand. He sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice sounding as if it were being dragged across sandpaper. "I feared what would happen if I tried… if I had tried to stop him. But I should have. I beg your forgiveness. If I had known… if I had known that Crowley putting that necklace on you would've led to this, then I would have—"

Jo held her hand up again, shaking her head. "It's okay. It's all right."

He took a step toward her, his eyes pleading. "I feared for your life. Had I not, I would have—"

But she cut him off again. "I understand. Really, I do. That you tried to… help me. In the way that you did. That means the _world_ to me."

He nodded, still looking quite distressed. But Jo had meant what she said. That small gesture to show that he was there, that she hadn't been alone… and Crowley _would_ have killed her, sending her straight to Hell, if Castiel had intervened. She reached out, brushing her fingers against his, and she smiled.

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded once more. "I must go."

"Wait!" she called again before he could leave. "What creature from Purgatory did you find? I mean, how did you find it?"

Castiel pursed his lips, obviously debating whether it would be wise or not to tell Jo about all of it. But finally, he sighed.

"The creature is possessing a woman from long ago, a maid in the house of H.P. Lovecraft. She is going by the name Eleanor Visyak. Bobby knew of her, but has only recently discovered what she is. I took her as she was leaving her cabin that she had spelled against angels and demons."

Jo pulled her feet off the bed, sitting on the ache. She groaned, finding that her body ached more than she had originally thought. But she tried to keep the signs hidden as she talked with Cas.

"Bobby knew her? How?"

"I'm… uncertain. Jo, I really must go. If you are well…?"

She nodded, and Castiel was gone in a flash. Sheets thrown off, caring not a bit for the protests of her poor, abused body, Jo rushed to the dresser and pulled out her clothing, throwing them on as quickly as possible. She had to get to this Visyak woman. And, although she doubted that this was probable, find out as much about Purgatory before Crowley and Castiel. Maybe, just maybe, this woman would aid her in keeping it shut. In a moment, Jo was fully dressed and running at full speed out of Crowley's manor. She reached the prison in record time, slowing only so that she could sneak about a bit easier.

She jumped into an empty room as she heard Crowley, grumbling, walking around a nearby corner. She heard the flutter of Castiel's wings as the angel fell into step beside the demon.

"Can't get the bloody bitch to talk, and I _didn't_ start slow," Crowley said as they passed by the door of the room Jo was within.

"Nothing at all? I thought you were the King of Hell," Castiel groaned.

"Hold on there," Crowley exclaimed incredulously. "I didn't say I was giving up, now, did I? I'm just taking a break to rethink my strategy."

Their voices faded as they rounded another corner, and Jo exited the room. The smell of blood was in the air, and Jo had a bad feeling that if she followed it, she would find the Visyak woman at the other end. So she did just that, coming to the familiar set of swinging doors that led to the examination room. She stood on tiptoe, peeking through the window.

The woman was fairly tall, with her blonde hair pinned up in a professional manner. Her blue dress was decorated by a single, black belt that wrapped where her waist tapered in, and it looked like something a CEO or some such person might wear to work. She was strapped to a gurney that was turned vertical, and her head lolled down on her chest. Jo feared the worst as she slowly pushed open the doors to enter the room.

But Visyak's head shot up, and her eyes widened.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her eyes roved over Jo, finally squinting in on the necklace as Jo's hand rose to the pendant. Looking a bit sympathetic, Visyak added, "You're not one of Crowley's demons."

Jo shook her head. "No. My name is Jo. Jo Harvelle."

She arched a brow. "Harvelle? That name sounds familiar."

"You might have heard Bobby Singer mention it. I, um, am supposed to be dead."

"Yes… yes, I remember. They brought you back, the demon and the angel?"

"The demon," Jo answered.

She took several steps forward, her hand fiddling with the necklace.

"I need to stop them… to stop Cas. I need something that will convince him that opening Purgatory isn't a way to win the war. You… you were a creature from Purgatory?"

Eleanor nodded. "Yes. And for years I've tried my best to keep it from opening again like it did when I came through. That stupid Lovecraft… he almost destroyed the world. I know that I'm a monster. Obviously, since I was in Purgatory, but I do have love for this world. I don't want to see it eaten alive."

Jo's eyes narrowed. "So… the other monsters? They want to see this world destroyed?"

Visyak swallowed, hard, shaking her head. "No. Not the monsters. Or, at least, not the ones like me. Not the ones that were created by Eve. This place is as much our home as it is yours. But… there are others. _Powerful_ creatures that were never meant to escape."

"What creatures?"

The woman locked eyes with the huntress, a dark look casting her eyes in shadow. It was with a deadly seriousness with which she spoke said creatures' name.

"Leviathan."

"Leviathan? I don't understand."

Eleanor flexed her hands against her bonds, shaking her head. "Leviathans are what God created first. But they were too strong. They had an… an endless hunger. So God cast them into Purgatory, in order to save his most loved creatures—humans. Human flesh, Jo, is what a Leviathan craves. And they're invincible, do you understand that? Not silver, not holy water, not scripture can stop them. You can't even keep them dead if you behead them in the wrong way. They hunt in Purgatory… they're the things that us monsters feared there. If they get through… the world will _truly_ end."

Jo felt her heart stop. As horrible as this news was, as terrible as these creatures sounded, she couldn't help but feel a sort of elation. She had it. What she had been searching for all along: a way to get Castiel to listen. Because Castiel loved humans as much as his Father did. He would never, ever, risk humanity. This would force him to find another way.

"Thank you," Jo said, taking a step forward.

"Not one more inch, Joanna," Crowley's voice said from behind her, causing her to whirl about.

He was grinning from ear to ear, shaking his head. "I would hate to have to punish you again like I did last night. Well, that's not entirely true. I would _love_ to do that again… but I think I'd get creative this time."

Castiel stood beside him, looking like he had sucked on a lemon. Jo crossed her arms.

"I wasn't doing anything," she said.

"Right," the King of Hell said disbelievingly. "Now, scamper on, pet. Your angel friend here is about to take a crack at Ms. Visyak."

Jo's arms fell limply to her sides as she rushed up to Castiel.

"You're going to torture her?"

From behind them, she could hear Eleanor struggling against her bonds. Castiel nodded.

"It's what must be done," he said.

"Don't. Please, Cas, don't do it. Let her go," Jo said.

Crowley laughed. "Oh yes, because _that_ has always worked."

Castiel looked away from her. "Leave, Jo. Please."

She took a step back, her gaze still pleading. But he wouldn't meet her eyes, and she sighed. She moved past him, stalking out of the room. However, just as she exited, she stopped. She stepped to the right, resting her back up against the wall. She pressed her hands against the cold stone and listened as Castiel began.

"Tell us how to open the door to Purgatory," he said in his own, monotone way.

"No," Eleanor said, so low that Jo almost couldn't hear her. "You don't want this. Please."

"Then you leave me no choice," he said.

The next instant was followed by screams the likes of which Jo had never heard. She was sure that, no matter how the necklace had hurt, that she had _never_ screamed like that. It sounded as if Eleanor's very soul was being ripped from her. Jo dug her nails into the wall, her breath quickening as the screams continued. On and on they went, and Jo couldn't pry herself from her spot, not even to look and see what Castiel was doing to her.

Because she didn't want to know. She didn't want to believe that Castiel, friend to the Winchesters, _her_ friend, was capable of causing such a terrible sound. She wanted to cry, but she found her eyes dry as, finally, shouting the words, Eleanor screamed, "I'll tell you! I'll tell you! Just _please_ stop!"

Jo wrapped her arms about her stomach as the urge to vomit overtook her. No. No. She wanted to burst into the room and beg Eleanor not to tell. But she couldn't. She couldn't ask that poor woman to endure even more torture.

"You need the blood of a virgin and… and the blood of a Purgatory native. And a special ritual," she said, gasping out each word.

"And that's it?" Jo heard Crowley ask.

"Yes," Eleanor said, and she sounded close to tears. "But the ritual has to be performed at a certain time. Soon."

"Where can we get the ritual?" Castiel asked.

Eleanor's voice dipped too low for Jo to catch, but after a moment, she heard Crowley laughed.

"Well, we can get part of what we need right now, can't we? Would you like to do the honors, angel wings?"

"No!" Eleanor shouted just moments before screaming out again.

The noise caused Jo to jump, pressing her back as hard as possible into the wall. Moments later, the demon and the angel exited the room. Jo's eyes flew to Castiel's right hand, which was carrying a jar half filled with blood, and he was soaked in it from his fingertips to his elbow. He paused, his eyes dimming.

"Jo," he said.

She shook her head. "Don't. You… you _bastard_ ," she snapped.

Crowley chuckled. "Oooh… looks like the girlfriend is mad at you. Come on. We need to discuss the details. We haven't the time to deal with Miss Harvelle's personal soap opera."

He hooked an arm around Castiel's shoulders and led him away. Jo remained in place, glaring after the two until they had disappeared from sight. Then, in a dash, she was back in the room with Eleanor.

The entire midsection of her blue dress was soaked through with blood, and her skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Jo ran to the gurney, undoing the straps around her ankles before she moved to undo the ones about her wrists. Eleanor collapsed onto Jo's shoulders, looking at her as if she only half believed she was there.

"What… are you doing?" she asked.

"Do you know how to get in contact with Bobby? Do you know where he lives, in Soux—"

But Eleanor nodded. "I do, but why?"

"You have to get out of here. You have to warn the Winchesters. I'm going to get you out of this damned place," Jo said, half dragging Eleanor to the doors of the room.

"But… the necklace. Crowley will kill you, and I know what that necklace is," she breathed.

"I don't care. Purgatory can't be opened. You said so yourself. I can help you escape."

"No," Eleanor said, pushing herself off of Jo.

She wobbled a bit on her feet but regained her balance before Jo had to catch her. She shook her head resolutely.

"You've done enough by doing this," Eleanor said. "And I still have a few tricks up my sleeves. I'll get out. I'll warn them."

"Don't tell them about me," Jo said wildly. "I just—"

But Eleanor raised a bloodied hand, and it made Jo cringe to think that that blood was her own.

"I understand. Get away from this yourself, Jo. Thank you."

She stumbled out of the doors of the room, and as they swung open and shut, Jo watched as Eleanor vanished before her eyes. This left only Jo in the room, reeling. She stalked from the room, unsure of where her exact destination was. She roomed the halls of the prison, debating about whether or not she should go back to the manor. But she had a feeling that that would be useless. Instead, she stumbled across the cell that she had Castiel had made love in. Near the point of tears, she entered, sinking down on the bed. She gripped the sides of it with her hands so tightly that she felt the metal beginning to bite into her flesh.

Her breathing was out of control, for the first several minutes that she sat there, she simply tried to master it. Once that was accomplished, her brain just began to replay information. Leviathans, monsters that would eat the world. And all that kept them from doing so was the closed door of Purgatory. Right now, at this very moment, Castiel and Crowley were both busy gathering all the necessary items to do the world's stupidest action. She swallowed, trying to force herself to come up with a way to stop them. To stop it all from happening. But she had had months to work on this, and each time, her plans were stopped by one thing and one thing alone: the damned heart necklace. So long as Crowley had her on this leash, the only weapon she had at her disposal for all of this was pleading. She could only plead with Castiel, and try to make him see reason.

Did he even know about the Leviathans? Surely not. It made no sense to Jo that he would open Purgatory knowing that these creatures were there. No. Castiel mustn't know about them. Jo began to rub her hands along the edge of the metal, nodding only to herself. She had to tell him. Yes. That's all she could do… if she could just let him know what was on the other side… her first instinct would be right. Castiel would never let such a creature loose upon the world… not deliberately.

She stood, pacing the length of the small cell. Her eyes flew to the small, barred window, and it seemed as if the sun had started to set right before her eyes. The yellow light of day had faded to a deep orange and crimson. She was running out of time. She turned, facing the direction of the examination room. She had to talk to Castiel _now_. Before all was lost.

She all but ran from the cell, jogging down to the examination room, where the doors—oddly—were propped open. Castiel wasn't alone, and it wasn't Crowley that he was with. She ducked behind one of the open doors, leaning out and around. Her eyes widened as she realized that Balthazar was there, his back to Castiel, assuring him that he was with him, no matter what. Castiel stood, nodding. Maybe this was a good thing. Balthazar didn't seem the type to fall in with a demon… maybe there was more to this than met the eye.

But then, happening so fast that Jo barely believed she had witnessed it, Castiel buried the blade of an angel killing dagger into his brother's back. Light poured from Balthazar's eyes and mouth as he fell forward, and Jo could see the deceased angel's wings burned into the floor. Tears sprung to her eyes as Castiel only stared down at Balthazar. She rounded the door, walking slowly into the room. This was it. The point of no return… Balthazar had been saying that was on Castiel's side… and Cas had killed him. She had lost before she could even begin the fight.

"How could you?" she whispered as Castiel turned, surprised to see her there.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she walked farther into the room, only stopping as she reached Balthazar's body. She crouched down, her fingers tracing the outline of the ashen wings before she stood, facing the living angel in the room.

"He was your brother. And he loved you. He wanted _you_ to win," she said.

Castiel sighed. "I know. But he was going to betray me to the Winchesters. He planned to help them stop me."

Jo shook her head angrily. "Shouldn't that tell you something, you idiot?"

Castiel didn't respond, only staring at her as she continued to cry. The two remained quiet for a moment before she finally sighed, the air shuddering as she drew it in around her tears.

"It's too late for you, isn't it?" she whispered.

Now it was Cas that turned away. "I have to do what I have to do."

"Even if the consequences are too great? Cas, there are monsters in Purgatory… bigger and worse than anything on this Earth. You can't open it. They'll get through."

"And I'll stop them," he said, confidently as he turned back to face her.

"No, you don't understand. Eleanor called them Lev—"

But Castiel held up a hand. "This is the only way. If I don't open Purgatory, then I'll lose the war, and then all truly will be lost. It's been decided… long ago."

Jo shook her head. He wouldn't even try to listen to her.

"What about Crowley? You're really gonna let him have this power?"

"That… has been decided as well."

"Castiel, please," she said, rushing forward and resting her hands on his face. "Please. Just listen to me. These monsters… they'll _eat_ us. All of us."

"They'll be contained," Castiel responded, gently gripping her wrists and moving them away.

"Please… back down. Stop this. Stop Crowley," she asked.

He locked his blue eyes upon hers. "No. No. This is happening. Like I said, it's been decided. This is the point of no return."

Jo stepped back, turning away. She closed her eyes, her tears slowing to stop. If Castiel wouldn't listen… and if Crowley wouldn't free her… then there was only one course of action.

"Then you have to kill me," Jo said.

"What?" Castiel asked.

She kept her back to him as she answered.

"Kill me. Because I can't watch you do this. I can't watch you betray your friends—your _family_ —like this anymore. I can't watch you destroy the world. So kill me, as easily as you killed your brother. Send me to Hell, because I'd rather be there than here. Because I know you won't free me either to tell Sam and Dean."

"I can't have them interfere," Castiel said softly.

Jo's eyes closed. "Then kill me."

She heard him move closer to her, and she was careful not to open her eyes. In the time span of a single breath, she felt the knife slide into her back, and it forced out a gasp. But, more importantly, just a split second before, she heard the necklace unclasp, and felt it fall down to her feet. She smiled as Castiel removed the blade. She fell forward, and as she bled out onto the ground, the smile remained on her face.

He had removed the necklace. He cared enough to do that.

She was free.

_I'm not calling you a liar, just don't lie to me_

_I'm not calling you a thief, just don't steal from me_

_I'm not calling you a ghost, just stop haunting me_

_And I love you so much, I'm gonna let you kill me_

-"I'm Not Calling You a Liar," Florence + the Machine

~End~


End file.
